


The Smell of Heartbreak

by Kateis_Cakeis



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bath, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Canon-Typical Violence, Dancing, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Smut, Soul Bond, The Coast, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateis_Cakeis/pseuds/Kateis_Cakeis
Summary: Jaskier was cursed, which wasn’t news to him, he’d had the curse lurking in his bones for a long time. The problem was it had activated. And the mountain… Geralt had been at fault.Now, it had been years, and he hadn’t moved on. Couldn’t.And by some miracle of destiny, Geralt was thrown back into his life.Maybe they’d get to have that coastal break after all.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 297
Kudos: 1461
Collections: Geralt is Sorry





	1. Haven't Moved On

Jaskier hopped from one table to another, light on his feet, fuelled on by the clapping and cheers. “And the witcher,” he drawled, somehow balancing his lute as he steadied on the table he’d jumped to, “took down the unruly beasts, one by bloody one!”

He continued to sing, jumping down from the table, leaning upon a pillar, belting out long high notes, instantly launching into another verse of his happy little jig that he’d only recently composed. After all, he could still create a happy song despite... Here and there, of course.

He finished the song with upbeat notes dying off. Smiling as many tossed coins into a hat he’d began carrying around for this purpose alone. The towns he went to were generous and plentiful, and this particular town did love travelling bards (such as Jaskier) gracing their taverns. And because of his performances, he wasn’t short of coin these days, which bought him all manner of things.

“Play us a sorrowful ballad!” one man called out.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. That was not usual of patrons, people often wanted happiness to forget that life could be cruel.

“Yeah! Give us some heartbreak. You’ve been too happy!”

Jaskier suspected some of the people in this tavern may not have experience great hurt, as more sparked alive with the request of a heart-breaking ballad. He knew only one that could tear him into pieces.

Surely they would agree.

He sat atop a table, between a group of women, who lit up at his presence. He swallowed thickly, strumming the first few notes. “The fairer sex they often call it…” Closing his eyes, he let himself get lost in the heartbreak of the song. His voice, as always, since the incident, broke on the word ‘weak’. He struggled on welcoming his sentence, because it wasn’t a sentence anymore, was it? He’d been sent away, rejected.

Jaskier opened his eyes as he softly uttered the last line. A big burly man stood up, frowning.

“That was the sweetest most heart-breaking song I’ve ever heard,” he said, sniffling. He began to clap, and everyone, very quickly, joined him.

“What a song!” one of the women beside him crowed. “A tale of destiny dragging away love… from you?”

Jaskier clenched his jaw. Destiny… That was not the ‘her’ he was referring to. Still, it did bring two together by a wish. That still stung, oddly. Destiny, however, was not the villain of his song. And while it was about him, he would never admit that to strangers. Or to anyone. Not that he had anyone to admit it to. “It’s about a friend of mine, from his perspective.”

“Oh! How sad for him then… Destiny does steal the wrong people away from us.”

He hummed, glancing down at his lute, jaw still partly clenched. He plucked at a few strings, sighing. “Anyone like another jig?” His voice came out quiet, almost scratchy.

A man stood up, approaching him. “Nah.” He pulled a few coins from his pocket. “I’m getting a drink for you, bard, you’ve entertained us enough.”

Jaskier grinned, standing upon the table. “Folks, it seems my night is done! As the man pointed out, I need a drink. My throat must be soothed, or I may never sing again!” He slung his lute on his shoulder. “Thank you, for being so receptive!”

The tavern erupted in applause again. Grins stared at him as he reached for his hat, setting it upon the bar, piling the coins into his pouch. The man came to a stop beside him, smiling. Jaskier smiled back as he folded up the hat and slid it into his case, alongside his lute.

“What will it be, young man?”

“Wine, if you don’t mind.”

The man flagged down the barkeep. “Some wine for this bard here.” He practically flung the coins onto the bar top.

The barkeep nodded and poured wine into a cup, handing it over to Jaskier. He took a big glug of the stuff, needing it after that song. Why did he have to sing that one? He could have chosen any of the others.

“It was about you,” the man said.

The wine suddenly felt like ash on his tongue. Jaskier placed the cup down, staring at the man. “No, it really wasn’t.”

“Your voice cracked on the word love. You said certain lines through gritted teeth. It was about you.”

Jaskier looked away, sighing.

“Your love was the Witcher, am I right?”

He tensed at the very mention of it.

“Yes, I thought so.”

“Must you pry?”

The man rounded Jaskier, appearing in his eyesight once again. “I’ve been there, fallen in love with the wrong person, who was being dragged away by the love of another.” He smiled, eyes bright. “I told him the truth of my feelings, and he reciprocated. Sometimes, you have to take a leap.”

“You don’t know Geralt, or how it’s sour between us.”

“I know a pure love when I see it, and you, bard, practically smell of the stuff.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “How can one smell a love?”

The man shrugged. “Some can.” He nodded towards a corner of the tavern. “I’m fairly sure that cloaked man over there is your Witcher. Swear I saw a sliver of white hair.”

“If Geralt was here, he would have left as soon as he heard me singing.” _Because it was like a pie with no godsforsaken filling._

“Look, bard.”

Jaskier had no idea why the man cared, or who he was. There was a mysterious feel to him, like he knew, or sensed things others couldn’t. Perhaps he was a mage.

For whatever reason, he looked, tossing a glance over his shoulder. The cloaked man _could have_ been familiar, but there were no defining features. It could have been anyone with broad shoulders and a brooding nature. Who had their hood up in a tavern anyway?

He looked towards the man, lips thinned. “It’s not him.”

The man tilted his head to the side. “But if it was, would you tell him your true feelings?”

“No, because, as the song states, he loves another.” He picked up his wine, sipping at it, trying to ignore the man, and the cloaked figure.

“Do you know that for certain?”

“ _If_ he did love me, it would be foolish. He would have to watch me wither and die.”

The man hummed. “Does it matter, for love?”

Jaskier downed the rest of his wine. “Of course it matters.”

“Well, it seems destiny has said not today.” He nodded to the corner. “The figure is gone.”

Jaskier looked, and the man was right, the table had been vacated and whoever that person was, had gone. “It probably wasn’t him.”

“Hmm, perhaps not.” The man patted Jaskier’s shoulder. “I wish you luck, bard, for the sake of love.”

Jaskier stared down at his empty cup as the man left him be. Maybe it was time to stop dwelling on his crumbled heart. After all, it had been two years. He had to move on eventually… But how could he? When every tumble in the sheets only lasted once. It never went much further than that. He kept moving, travelling. Towns had to have their spirits brightened, after all the war had took.

He got a room for the night and settled down. Being on the road was awfully lonely.

\--

“Jaskier! How many years has it been?!” Yennefer exclaimed, appearing out of nowhere, at the edge of his camp for the night. His horse, Daisy, complained, neighing loudly (he’d taught her well).

Jaskier glared up at her, placing down his dagger and sharpening stone. “Not enough if you’re here.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“It’s been six.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, placing a hand at her hip. “Maybe I was preemptive to comment on your crow’s feet, you’ve barely aged a day.”

He sighed, feeling mildly uncomfortable at her presence. He’d never forgotten how they’d met, and all the mess that had come after it. He picked up a nearby stick, poking at his fire, anything to distract himself. “Why are you here?”

“Can’t I pop in to see an old friend?”

“Friend?”

Her eyes pierced his soul. “Ciri was asking about you, _that’s_ why I’m here.”

Jaskier stilled. He dropped the stick, standing carefully. Ah. Shit. He made his way over to Daisy, stroking her mane softly. “I hope she doesn’t remember the last time we met.”

“She does, and despite that, she misses you. I’m surprised you introduced yourself as Julian to her.”

“I only wanted to keep an eye on her, for Geralt. I didn’t want her to work it out if I… wasn’t there.” However, at the time, his death was the only way he imagined _not_ being there. Daisy neighed softly, sympathetically.

“Geralt talks about you far too often for her not to.”

“He does?”

“Yes, it’s infuriating.”

Jaskier felt hope spike in his chest, even though there was no reason for it to. Geralt wasn’t here, and he doubted he would ever apologise. “That’s surprising…” He turned, narrowing his eyes at her. “How are you two these days? Did you work it out?”

Yennefer’s eyes gave an answer before she opened her mouth. There was a look there, one of memory, not of the present. “It’s a long and complicated story, but no, we’re long over.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“That’s a very weak apology, Jaskier.”

He hummed, turning back to Daisy. “So Ciri wanted you to find me?”

“She’d very much like to know how you’re doing.”

“She’s eighteen now, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier recalled playing at Cintra’s banquets and whatnot many a times over the years, which became an easy way to keep an eye on Ciri in the early days. Sometimes, she would sneak out to a nearby tavern to hear him play. He would tell her stories there without Queen Calanthe’s eyes on them (she’d threatened to cut his balls off once, when he’d talked to Ciri for too long). He’d even taught her how to play the lute.

“She’ll have grown so much!” He smiled, whisking around, making his way back to the fire. “Tell her I’m fine, better than fine.” Picking up his dagger, he slipped it back into the sheath at his side. “I’m fully able at defending myself these days, and money is never short.”

“You have no one…” Yennefer said, in such a sudden way, she made a surprised sort of noise. There was a pause, as Jaskier kept his back to her. The sad thing was, she was terribly right. “You haven’t moved on.”

“I… _can’t_.”

“What?”

He turned around, eyes downcast. “I was cursed. Years ago, before I met Geralt. I slept with a mage’s wife. A _terrible_ mistake, believe me.”

Realisation dawned within Yennefer’s eyes. “Oh…”

“The mage told me, if my heart was ever broken by someone I loved truly and purely, I would never be able to stop loving them. Cursed to watch everyone I would ever have a chance with walk away, because my mind can never move on. Because all my songs are about _him_.”

“Geralt broke your heart…”

“He did. And it still _hurts_.”

Yennefer took in a slow and careful breath, eyes almost soft. Jaskier wouldn’t be fooled to call it sympathy. “I can break the curse for you, if you want.”

Jaskier barked a laugh, bitter and shaky to his own ears. Fuck… He was doomed, utterly fucking doomed. “Break it, after all these years? I think losing the curse would harm me more than it’s already currently harming me.” He glanced away. “I fear I’d forget all the precious memories otherwise. With the curse, nothing fades. It’s all fresh, like it had happened yesterday, _all of it_.”

“Jaskier, that’s no way to live.”

“It’s _my_ way! Ever since that bloody mountain!” he shouted, with no anger behind his words, only sadness. His shoulders sagged, and he sat upon his bedroll, pulling his lute into his lap. “You can leave now. Tell Ciri I’m going to Oxenfurt in the summer, she’ll find me at the Academy during the day, and the taverns at night.”

Yennefer stepped into view, crossing her arms, blocking the light of the fire. “I can tell Geralt too?”

Jaskier strummed his lute, lyrics forming in his head. He closed his eyes, puffing a breath. “ _Geralt of Rivia, shrouded in destiny_ ,” he sung, barely, whispered really. He locked eyes with Yennefer’s. “If destiny allows it, I’m sure I’ll meet him again, and that will be his _one chance_. If destiny doesn’t… I will die a broken-hearted man, which is awfully in character for me, don’t you think?”

“If that’s truly what you want.”

“What I truly wanted threw itself off a cliff when my love shouted in my face and blamed me for all his mistakes.”

“Jaskier–”

“I’d like it if you left now.” He began humming a tune, unable to find any lyrics within himself, too tired to. Instead, he played his lute and pointedly did not look at Yennefer, hoping she’d leave on her own accord. “I have things to do.”

“Like being alone?”

“You know, it’s easy. You don’t get hurt.”

Yennefer sighed, more exasperated than in pity. “Fine, Jaskier, wallow in your cursed heartbreak. It won’t do you any good.”

“Goodbye, Yennefer.”

She groaned in what he could only assume was frustration. And then she was gone. He pushed his lute safely into its case, curling around it as he lay on his side, closing his eyes. For the fiftieth time today, he thought of the mountain, about the words that had been angrily spat in his face. Sometimes, it was all he could think about, overwhelming. The curse permitted it, needed him to feel that pain, the heartbreak, a thousand times, and still…

Still, he was in love.

\--

Jaskier grinned as he passed through Oxenfurt. Coming back always felt refreshing. He could give a few lectures, sing in taverns, show off to the students who didn’t know what would come next for them with poetry under their belts. It was like being the ultimate proof that the education the Academy provided really did work. A success story. Something for the professors to grab and shout about, that he was one of theirs.

Being one of the most popular bards on the Continent had its benefits.

Too often had he walked into a town, village, or tavern, where someone shouted out his name. (Which was quickly followed by, ‘Where’s your White Wolf?’, to which he never answered and launched into a song to distract himself.)

Therefore, when he walked into the best tavern in town, to get a room for the next week (before he would steal a space in the Academy by annoying his old professors into giving him a room), he wasn’t surprised when one of said professors called out his name, bounding up to him, spry for his age.

“Piotr,” Jaskier smiled at his old professor. His hair was greyer than last time, and his wrinkles seemed to have wrinkled more so. He hadn’t seen him in a couple years, due to him being away from the Academy when Jaskier had visited last year. So, it was good to see him in relative health.

“Jaskier! You still haven’t aged, it’s amazing. How were you blessed with such a young complexion?”

He shrugged, tilting his head in such a way that his hair flung from one side to the other. “I moisturise.”

Piotr’s face dropped. “Surely that cannot be the secret.”

“It works for me.”

“It certainly does!” He threw an arm around Jaskier, guiding him to the bar. “Now, what have you gotten up to in the last few years? I’ve heard more stories about your humour and charm on your journeys rather than your scandals nowadays.”

Jaskier shakily laughed. What he would do for the simple days, where having his balls cut off by a vengeful lord was all he had to worry about, when love was easy to fall in and out of, and none of it lasted long enough for true heartbreak. “Times change.”

Piotr hummed, musically. “They do indeed.” He flagged down the barkeep. “A glass of your best wine for the greatest bard Oxenfurt Academy has ever produced!”

Which was quickly followed by a cheer from those who had overheard. Jaskier had a feeling he’d be singing tonight, whether he liked it or not.

“Are there any rooms going in the Academy?” Jaskier asked, hedging his bets.

“I’m not too sure, you see, I’ve retired.”

“You _have_?”

“I’m seventy-two and I’ve barely seen much of the Continent.” Piotr smiled, wistfully, as if he were about to launch into song. “It’s time to take a leaf out of your book, and explore what the world has to offer.”

“I’m sure your angelic singing voice will charm the masses.”

“No one wants to hear an old man sing.”

Jaskier placed a careful hand upon Piotr’s upper arm. “I do. Look at me, I’m almost fifty and I show no signs of stopping. Neither should you, no matter what people think. Sing, till your dying breath, it was what people like you and me were born for!”

Piotr suddenly had a youthful look to him. “You’re right, gods, you are!”

The barkeep placed Jaskier’s wine down, to which he took a quick swig. He set his lute on the bar top, taking it out of its case and holding it gently. “I can play while you sing?” He smiled, hoping it was reassuring enough to convince Piotr.

“What _should_ I sing?”

“How _about…_ ‘Forever Is A Day’?”

Piotr straightened up, brushing down his clothes, smoothing them out. “Good choice.”

The crowd were wary at first, as Jaskier settled on a stool, playing the first notes but making no movement to sing. Their interest was piqued as Piotr opened his mouth, and his angelic voice belted out, just as wonderful as it had been when he taught his classes, when he was younger and full of life. He was still needed. His voice. His talent. Towns would cherish him, if he sang from the heart, charming and sweet. People did need something to pull at their heart strings from time to time.

Jaskier had learnt that over the last six years.

He got lost in the music, watching Piotr. He was fantastic, and the crowd surely thought so too, as they erupted in applause once the song came to an end. Then people were calling out for Jaskier to sing. A great number of them had heard _of_ him, but had never heard his voice.

So he kicked up into a few crowd pleasers. Notably ‘The Fishmonger’s Daughter’, always loving it when everyone clapped and sang along. He even threw in a ‘Toss a Coin to Your Witcher’ as someone requested it. He didn’t mind, singing it, but it brought back a lot of good and bad memories, so he launched into another happy jig that had _nothing_ to do with Geralt to finish off his impromptu performance.

Piotr’s eyes were gleaming as Jaskier placed his lute back in its case. “You have such a talent.”

“Thank you.” He ordered a cup of Est Est, almost throwing it back to soothe his throat. “I’m glad I can entertain people, even now, when my muse is gone.”

“I heard the stories… What happened to you and your witcher?”

Jaskier closed his eyes, and all he could see was the mountain. Geralt shouting at him with such hate, like they really hadn’t been friends. “I had to move on, to something new. I couldn’t very well use him for inspiration forever.”

Piotr circled the rim of his cup, filled with ale. “A bard doesn’t give up their muse easily. Must have been a rough time for you.”

Of course a poet would find the truth of the matter, reading between the lines was their very craft. “You have no idea.”

“Drink up, and we can go find you accommodation at the Academy.” He grinned, though his eyes held sympathy within them. He knew. “There should be room for you, but I’ll wager they will want you to do a lecture for them.”

Jaskier nodded along, smiling. “I do enjoy teaching the youth.”

“Good! The world needs more teachers, mentors.”

They made their way out, as soon as their drinks were done, and headed towards the Academy. Piotr quickly found Tytus, another of Jaskier’s old professors (emphasis on the old), who told them there was always room for Jaskier. He was practically shoved into a room by Tytus, who was beaming at the prospect of gaining another lecture from him. They tended to doubt he was happy to help, but he _was_.

Piotr stood at the doorway, once Tytus had whisked off to do something else. “You do look at home here.”

Jaskier smiled as he glanced around the room. He had no doubt a botanist had been staying here. The room was covered in pretty plants, mainly flowers. A window lay at one end, bringing most of the light in. And the bed looked awfully comfy, compared to the ones at taverns, and camping on the hard ground.

“Oxenfurt is one of the few places I come back to, it is a home.”

“I’m glad we had a good influence on you then.” Piotr’s tone was terribly soft. “I must start planning my journeys, if I want to travel any time soon. I’ll see you around.”

Jaskier beamed at him. “Perhaps we’ll see each other on our travels.”

“Perhaps we will.”

A week into his stay, he had a few lectures under his belt, and had a whole trove of students trying to follow him into taverns, just to hear him sing. It was almost exhausting, how much he was using his voice. But he didn’t mind, it did him good to give it a good stretch as he was often silent on the road.

He loved the attention his fame gave him, especially when it came in the form of coin. He could afford what he needed and more. Even if that fame came in the form of twenty students and an eighth of the population of Oxenfurt stuffed into one tavern.

The afternoon slipped away, and before he knew it, Jaskier was packing away his lute, breathing heavily. He got a few cups of wine down him before grabbing a quick meal and taking his leave before someone could rope him back into singing.

The fresh air was a relief to his lungs. The cramped tavern did not allow for easy breathing, and if it wasn’t for his amazing breath control, he may have struggled to sing in the heat. He meandered through the streets, watching the evening pass by before him, in the form of people bustling around during the last hours of the day.

“Julian.” He stopped dead in his tracks at the voice. Slowly, he turned around to see Ciri staring at him, eyes bright. “Or should I call you Jaskier?”

“Ciri,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “You can call me whatever you want. Either is fine.”

She smiled. He’d been right, she had grown taller, grown into her face. A powerful young woman, with skills beyond her years, he was sure. “Jaskier it is then, since that’s what Geralt and Yen call you.”

Jaskier couldn’t withhold a wince. Hearing Geralt’s name, it did hurt him.

“Yes, Yen mentioned you’re cursed.” She saw his alarmed look before he could rein the expression in. “Don’t worry, Geralt is none the wiser. Although, he is concerned about you. He knows Yen wanted you to come with her, when she approached you.”

“Why would _he_ be concerned about anything to do with me? He made his feelings quite brutally clear.”

“It’s been years, he’s had time to reflect.”

“Well, I haven’t.” He pulled on his lute strap, distracting himself. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

Ciri tilted her head, lips thinned. “Oh, Jaskier. Last I saw you, that barkeep was throwing you out of his tavern for bedding his son _and_ daughter, and now…”

“It still happens, less so, but it does.”

“You don’t have to live with this curse forever.”

Jaskier thought over old lyrics, practically ancient ones with how quickly music changed. _‘I welcome my sentence, give to you my penance_.’ “It’s my punishment, for being a fool. For falling in love with the witcher who never cared about me.”

Ciri’s brow furrowed, her lips curled in a snarl. “Don’t you _dare_ say he does not care. You have no idea what these years have done to him, and yet, as long as he hears you’re doing well and that you’re alive, he’s okay.”

“Geralt was okay before me, he’ll be okay long after I’m gone. I’m a moment, a whisper, a soft glancing touch in the wind. And then I’ll be nothing, forgotten, never to be remembered.”

“ _I’ll_ remember you. He will. Even Yen will.”

He barked a laugh. There was a sick joy to it, a melancholy bitterness. “Perhaps. A faded memory maybe, nothing more.”

“Is this what cursed heartbreak looks like?” Ciri took a few sudden steps forward, checking him over, eyes worried. “I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re permanently saddened, lashing out at those close to your heart breaker. Like anything associated with him cuts at your soul.” Her eyes widened – was it surprise? – before her brow furrowed. She gently took his hand into hers. He let her, gods know why. The furrow only deepened, a small gasp leaving her lips. “Yet, this is more profound than the curse.”

“It’s only a curse, Ciri. A weak one at that, it’s not going to kill me.”

“No, that’s not what it’s for. The curse is to torture you until your dying breath.” She locked eyes with him, patting his hand. “But that’s not all… It makes sense now.”

Jaskier shook his head, pulling his hand away and stepping back. “What do you mean?”

Ciri opened her mouth, as if she was about to answer, but thought better of it as she clamped her mouth shut. Silence hung in the air for a brief moment. “That’s not for me to tell you. Not yet. You need more time.”

“Don’t be cryptic with me, Ciri. Don’t be like Yennefer.”

“Trust me, Jaskier. Hearing what I know will only hurt you further right now.”

Jaskier sighed, glancing to the ground. Well, if Ciri thought it best for him not to know, yet, then he’d have to accept that. He trusted her, knew that she only had good intentions for people. She wouldn’t withhold information if she thought it would help. “I was heading home for the night, do you want to come along? I can give you another lesson.”

Ciri brightened, the grim expression leaving her face. “I would love that. I haven’t played the lute for years now.”

“Well! That won’t do! We must remedy that immediately!”

Once they got back to his room, they sat on the bed, and he passed his lute over to her.

Ciri had remembered much of his teachings, holding his lute like it was natural to her. They sang together, in a botched harmony, but they would surely fall back into it, if this became a thing again. Jaskier felt a pang of pride, watching Ciri. He’d heard the stories, and she was nothing short of remarkable. He’d always known it. Since he’d met her. There was a curious wonder to her, like she saw the world in a different way to everyone else.

And she probably did, given her experiences.

It reflected in her singing, in the emotion she relayed. Suffice it to say, she was everything he’d hoped she would become. He couldn’t wait to get to know her better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be coming every three days!!!
> 
> Come chat to me on [tumblr!](https://kateis-cakeis.tumblr.com/)


	2. Souls Come Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm changing up my schedule!!  
> Updates will be every other day, the following day, and then every other day... and so on!!  
> I just couldn't wait to start getting it up because it's done and I'm excited to see what you all think!! :D

“Why am I here?” Jaskier asked, setting his lute down on the nearest chair.

Yennefer shrugged, looking as if she didn’t care that he’d just walked in. “Maybe we missed you.”

“If–”

“He’s not here. He’s out on a job.” Yennefer looked half offended. “I heard you loud and clear last time, I wouldn’t intentionally do that to you.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, folding his arms. “Why not? We’re not friends.”

“We could be, if you would stop being jealous.”

“It’s not just that.”

Yennefer sighed, exasperated. “Fine. I’m sorry for threatening to kill you when we first met.”

Jaskier smiled slightly. “Was that painful? It sounded painful.”

“It was excruciating.”

Ciri whisked into the room, wearing armour he’d expect to see Geralt in. There was blood smeared on it, and there was a rabbit on her shoulder. “I got dinner.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, concerned. How… and… How…? “That’s a lot of blood for a rabbit.”

Ciri chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s not from the rabbit. The deer splattered me when I stabbed its neck.”

“Ah…” He scrunched up his nose, he never liked it when that happened. Not that it happened often, he tried to avoid camping, but sometimes he couldn’t make it to the next town before nightfall and, well, he had to eat. “Am I invited to dinner?” He narrowed his eyes, snapping his head towards Yennefer. “Is that why you summoned me here?”

He had to admit, if they had really missed him so dearly, there were easier ways to do it. Sending a letter to a tavern they had no way of guessing he would walk into was a bad bet. And yet, it had worked somehow. No doubt because of magic. Their house was fairly… nice. Tucked into a corner of woodland. Large enough for three people, safe enough to keep them out of sight, close enough to a town. It was perfect.

“Yes,” Yennefer said.

“No,” Ciri said, at the same time.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “Yennefer, are you lying?”

She smiled, in that mocking way, which indicated it wasn’t a smile at all. “No.”

“She is,” Ciri cut in, placing the rabbit down on the table. Jaskier… hadn’t quite noticed he’d walked straight into the kitchen. Yennefer got to work skinning it. “She doesn’t want to tell you the truth.”

Yennefer scoffed. “For good reason, Ciri. Can’t you see him?” Her eyes shot to him, piercingly purple, as always. “That curse needs breaking before something terrible happens.”

Jaskier shook his head, vehemently. No, he couldn’t. Would never. Didn’t want to. “I’m fine.”

“With the amount of pain rolling off you, I can’t take that seriously.”

Ciri curled a firm hand around Yennefer’s arm. “You have to be soft with him, this curse has been keeping him going too.”

“It’s _destroying_ him.”

“ _Hello…_?” They looked towards him, he smiled, sarkily. “Hi, I’m just your local bard, wondering why you’re talking as if I’m not here.”

Yennefer glared. Ciri frowned. He decided to fill in the gaps, he had a better reason than merely clutching onto old memories.

“If I keep the curse, it might feel like I’m still connected to him. Like we _were_ meant to meet.” He gestured wildly, because he was in pain, as much as he hated to admit it.

“That’s because you–” Ciri began to say, but was swiftly cut off when Yennefer elbowed her in the ribs. She rubbed at the spot, lips pulled thin, as if she began speaking on reflex.

Jaskier had an idea on what Ciri was going to say, nevertheless. He could see through her soft expression. “Okay, no, you need to tell me, immediately.”

Yennefer half glared at Ciri. Her eyes flicked to Jaskier, softer, but still hardened. “You really want to do this now? Before you’ve seen him?”

“Yes,” he said, with no hesitation. And maybe it was fuelled by the curse, or maybe it was his own judgement. The two blended together these days. And he didn’t much care. Anything they could tell him, he had to know. He’d stewed enough since Ciri had seen past the curse months ago.

Yennefer dropped her knife, glancing down at the table, as if daring for it to disappear. “He’s your destiny.”

“He’s… my what?”

“Ciri, tell him what you felt.”

Ciri approached him slowly, soft and gentle, as if he could be spooked, like a wild animal. “When I searched the curse, I could feel a bond there, forged by something beyond anyone’s control. You and him, you’re bound together by destiny. You were meant to meet. Me, Yennefer, you led him to us by being at his side at the right moments. The curse bleeds your soul dry, but being rejected by your destiny cut away the rest.”

“How can we– I mean– _He’s_ – I was barely around him for two decades how does that– How can he be my destiny?”

“Because the curse you’re under now isn’t the only magic hiding in your soul.”

Yennefer bowed her head. “You’re from noble stock, correct?”

“Yeah.” His breath was quickly leaving him, he almost felt winded.

“Noble families tend to hire mages to enact a spell which ensures their line will continue with only the strongest of marriages.” She gestured vaguely. “What Ciri felt is _that_ spell. I assume the reasons for why it was done were the same in your case. Someone wanted your soul bound to another. But, the magic is unpredictable and doesn’t often yield any results, nor does it bind two together. Whoever performed it on _you_ , knew what they were doing, and it worked.”

“Why would someone bind me to a witcher?”

“That’s the unpredictable part. The magic doesn’t allow room to choose, destiny reaches out and latches onto the only person with a matching soul.”

Jaskier threw his head back, laughing, half hysterical. Were they really trying to say having a _soulmate_ was possible? The sort of romantic fantasy writers of all kinds liked to create? “I’m _sorry_ , but this can’t be… How could my soul possibly be tied to _him_?” He shook his head slowly, his eyes widening. “You’re not kidding… Why would destiny be so cruel? Our souls are opposites, not matching. He could never admit we were _friends_ , and I’m supposed to believe we have a real connection? Not something I poetically made up?”

“Destiny is a bitch,” Ciri said, voice tainted with experiences Jaskier never wished to understand. “It’s not to be played around with. Whoever performed the spell on you, they didn’t care for what could be. They dammed the consequences and tied your soul to another.”

He gritted his teeth. “What does this mean?”

“It means… you’re bound to run into him eventually.” She rested her hand on his shoulder, staring into his eyes. “You can’t outrun him, just like I couldn’t, how Yen couldn’t. But it’s different with you, because it reaches into your very soul.”

Jaskier stepped back, needing space, all the space. He collided into the chair behind him, picking up his lute, slinging it onto his shoulder. “It’s been nice seeing you both, really, it has, but I must be going now.”

As he turned to go, the door to the kitchen snapped shut. He hung his head. Great.

“You need to know one more thing,” Yennefer said, her voice frustrated. He knew she and Ciri were probably sick of him, of the way he was reacting, but how else was he supposed to take the news? Knowing the truth only made the curse tear into him more so.

He kept his back to them. “What…?”

“The bond ties you together, but it does not create romance. Your relationship is naturally stronger, that’s part of the magic, the entire point of the magic actually, but it is not a romantic fantasy.” She sighed, again, it did not sound sympathetic, exasperated, maybe. “Love is not conditional with these bonds. Your matching souls being tied allows for more intense feelings, everything beyond that point is up to the people involved. But you fell in love with him, true and deep, just like the bond demands.”

“So… _theoretically_ , Geralt could dislike me for as long as I live…? But those feelings are stronger because of the bond?”

“I… Yes. But he doesn’t dislike you, Jaskier. He cares for you.”

Jaskier clenched his jaw. The story alone would make for an epic ballad. A human being tied through the soul to a witcher, their feelings intense towards each other, in whatever form that came in. Except… he was very painfully in love, and Geralt had been very painfully cruel to him.

“That’s… I’ll only believe that when he tells me himself.”

“Whatever will help you sleep at night, Jaskier.”

He shot a glare towards her and she rolled her eyes.

“The bond is why I want you to break the curse.” Yennefer’s voice was dripping in authority, like he didn’t have a choice. “If you keep it and reconcile with Geralt, it will put a strain on the bond and hurt you both. The mage really wanted you to suffer, because the heartbreak is everlasting. You will relive the memory until your dying breath, even if you and him were to fix what is broken.”

Seems like he really _didn’t_ have a choice.

“But–”

“Jaskier,” Ciri said, voice careful. “It’s time to give up the curse and move on.”

He clutched his lute strap, his knuckles going white. “How do we break it?”

“Lucky for you, it’s simple and won’t harm a hair on your head.” Yennefer walked to the other side of the kitchen, opening a cupboard and pulling out a vial. “It’s a love potion, that will make you believe you aren’t heartbroken, temporarily confusing the curse.” She smiled at him, smugly. “Giving me enough time to break it with a spell, lulling you into a deep sleep for your mind to recover.”

He curled his arms around himself. “Good. Great. Fantastic. I–”

Ciri gripped his arm, firmly. “It will be alright, Jaskier. Trust us.”

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply. “Let’s do it. Before I change my mind.”

Yennefer whisked out of the kitchen. “Come on then!”

She led them to a spare room, with a rickety single bed in it, along with a table, but that was all. Perhaps because the other rooms in the house were all occupied. Yennefer gestured for him to get on the bed, and he sat, shaking slightly. Six years he’d been under the curse’s influence. Six. To be afflicted by it no longer was a terrifying prospect, but it brought a relief with it. Reliving what had happened on the mountain every day was not good for his health, no matter how much he tried to argue with that fact.

Yennefer shoved the vial in his face, and he took it, staring at the liquid like it would eat him alive. Ciri leant against a wall, looking concerned yet happy, probably because he was taking their advice. Actually following through on breaking the bloody curse once and for all. As he chugged it back, Yennefer pushed him down on the bed, kneeling by him.

“Close your eyes, Jaskier, and remember why you love Geralt.”

He did as she said, and his heart swelled with the memories of happier days. Of the rare moments when Geralt didn’t greet him with silence, where he smiled at him and appreciated his company. He sunk into those feelings as Yennefer began to speak.

Jaskier felt something tug at his heart, felt as if something was fixed. A hole mended.

He smiled, the curse was fading… He fell into unconsciousness in the very next second.

\--

Daisy neighed, cautiously, scuffing her hooves off the ground. Jaskier furrowed his brow, packing his lute into its case, making his way over to her. He tied the strap alongside the rest of his belongings that Daisy oh so graciously carried for him. He had to be careful, because Daisy didn’t get riled up about much. If she had spotted something in the surrounding trees, he needed to be able to bolt with her.

He untied her, just in case.

Jaskier curled his hand around his dagger, hunching down as he explored his camp. It was too silent, Daisy had good reason to be wary. He snuck to the side-lines of his camp, trying to see if this situation was monster or man. Bandits did roam these parts, but he’d assumed not going too far into the woods would have kept him safe.

Clearly not, if he was judging the situation correctly.

“We’re not far,” a whisper emerged from the trees.

Jaskier hunched down further, hiding behind a bush. Definitely a man problem then. He watched as a few very bandit-y looking people inched towards his camp. Possibly not the only ones, and possibly not the only direction they were coming from. They were most likely after a late night raid, not that they would get many treasures from him. His lute would fetch a fair price, and Daisy would too, but they were the only valuable possessions to his name.

“Did you see his clothes? He has to be rich.”

Oh, _yeah_ , there was his coin too. They could definitely make use of that.

 _Well._ He was not about to let them ambush him. But they weren’t attacking him yet either. Theoretically, he could run straight back to Daisy, jump on her back and ride far, far away. But that was what an old Jaskier would do. He hadn’t learnt how to use a blade for nothing. He stood up, squaring his shoulders, and stepped close to the bandits.

“Looking for me?” he said with a smile.

They turned on him in an instant, drawing their swords. Now _that_ was better. He didn’t want to fight them while they were arguably unarmed. Them having swords in hand made him overly ready for the terrible night he was about to have.

He withdrew his dagger, holding it with grace. Fighting had a softness to it, weapons needed to be nurtured. Which was why his was decorative, with patterns etched into the blade, and a golden hilt, gems encrusted at the edges. One of the bandits laughed at him, nudging his companion and pointing towards the dagger. Jaskier rolled his shoulders. They didn’t know the world of pain they were about to be in.

Naturally, one of the bandits charged him, to which he easily ducked and moved out of the way. He ignored that guy in favour of dodging an attack from the other, grabbing him from behind and plunging his dagger into his neck. He withdrew it quickly, freely letting the blood spurt for a quick death. The remaining guy came running up to him, but he stopped him swiftly by kicking his ankle out and avoiding his sword. As he went down, Jaskier slipped the dagger right through his throat, phasing out the gurgling noises he made.

It was disgusting and brutal, but it had to be done. He wiped his dagger on the bandit’s armour and moved on, peering through the trees. He was glad he’d worn his green attire, it made it easier for him to blend in. Five guys were in his camp, and Daisy had clearly run off. She was nowhere to be seen, and he was glad for that, because these bandits were not messing around. He doubted five was the total number for them. It seemed too little.

He was quickly proved correct.

“Oi!” a bandit shouted from behind him. “He’s over here!”

Jaskier stood and spun around. His dagger wouldn’t be enough against the four men in front of him, and the five in his camp. He did the next best thing, he ran, to gain an advantage point. In fact, he ran straight for the road. Perhaps someone would see him and help. He was vastly outnumbered and likely outskilled.

The first couple of bandits came at him. He shoved one away, ducking a swing of a sword from the other. Straightening up, he thrusted his dagger right through his neck. He pushed the body onto the first bandit, grabbing his hair as he stumbled, shoving his dagger right through his eye. It squelched, and the man went limp in his hold. He dropped him in an instant to dodge an incoming attack, the sword missed him by inches. He jumped back. Fuck. Seven men were approaching, spreading out to surround him. His dagger could only do so much against seven _swords_.

The first guy came towards him, he slunk under his arm, grabbing it and stabbing his dagger through his hand. His sword clinked off the ground. A scream erupted from him as he withdrew quickly, again, going for the neck. As the guy went down and he turned to his attackers, he heard a scream from one of the bandits. The body thumped off the ground, and Jaskier suddenly felt like laughing.

He was right about the road, someone had joined him in his fight. White hair greeted him, familiar golden eyes sparkled in the little light there was from the last hours of the day, and a sword cut right through another bandit. Jaskier spun around as the remaining four spread out and hunched down, ready to kill, and swiftly, his back was pressed up against his very destiny.

To fight with Geralt was something new and unexplored, and he was _ready_.

They stepped away at the same time, and Jaskier almost mourned the loss of being against Geralt, knowing he was here and real, helping him in his fight. He caught one bandit’s arm as he swung for him, punching the sword from his grip. He threw his dagger into the eye of another, blocking out his scream as he grabbed the bandit’s head and whacked it off his knee, kicking. He reached for his dagger, as the other man continued to scream (and he only screamed more as the dagger left his eye), stabbing it into the bandit’s neck, before doing the same to the other man, ending his misery.

He turned to find Geralt wiping his dirty sword upon his trousers, having already thoroughly dispatched of his two bandits. He looked good, better than good. Well rested. Hair soft. Even with the blood covering him. Jaskier wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, he hadn’t expected destiny to throw Geralt back into his path like this.

So, Jaskier did what he did best, he brushed himself down and took in a nervous breath. “Do you think the blood splatters go with my outfit?”

Geralt huffed, but his lips curled into a smile. He turned, looking Jaskier up and down. “I’d say yes, green and red do go together. But the blood will wash out, your doublet will be saved yet.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Plenty more where this came from anyway.” He let the jokes and joy slip from him, allowing the softness, the hurt, to creep onto his face. “It’s been seven years… It’s good to see you, Geralt.”

Geralt’s eyes swam with an emotion Jaskier couldn’t name, didn’t dare to. He meant it, when he’d said this moment would be his only chance. With the curse gone and knowledge of their bond, perhaps this could only go one way. “Jaskier…” He toyed between several different expressions, before settling on surprise, it seemed. “You know how to fight now?”

“I went back to Oxenfurt for a year just to learn. Of course, being on the road allowed me to perfect my technique.”

“Going for the neck is good.”

“Yeah…”

Geralt shifted from foot to foot. “H– How are you?”

“I’m good. I’ve got plenty of coin, people know me all around the Continent, I have everything I ever dreamed off. Even a horse.” He huffed a laugh, feeling overly nervous. “How have the years been treating you? I’ve heard things, here and there.”

“It’s been rough. Keeping Ciri safe and training her wasn’t easy. It’s better now.” Geralt glanced away, eyes searching for something, perhaps within his own mind. “I missed you.”

Jaskier nearly choked on air, he hadn’t expected that. But maybe he should have, after what Yennefer and Ciri had said. “I… missed you too.”

“Seven years.”

“I know.”

“I… Let’s not do this here.”

Jaskier understood. He whistled, and a few seconds later, Daisy came trotting up beside him. He smiled and patted her neck, giving her a soft stroke. She snorted at him, nuzzling the side of his head. “Oh, I know, girl. The bandits are gone now, you did good, running.”

She neighed in reply.

“Kept my lute safe too, good girl.” He ruffled her mane, pressing his forehead to her neck before pulling back. He glanced to Geralt, and noticed Roach approaching him from behind. She nuzzled his hand, and he obliged, stroking her.

“The next town is not far, we can talk in a tavern there?”

Jaskier shook his head. “If there are any rooms left, we’ll talk there. I want to have this conversation in private.”

Geralt nodded and left it at that.

They climbed atop their horses and rode out. It was strange, to ride at Geralt’s side, instead of walking alongside him. They were able to cover ground much faster, kicking up into a gallop instead of a trot. They didn’t push their horses hard, but they were at the town in no time. Jaskier couldn’t have been far off, if he’d kept going, he would have been in a room right now, while Daisy slept in a stable, instead of being ambushed by bandits. But… he wouldn’t have had Geralt thrown into his life again, so, there was one benefit to setting up camp for the night.

Once Daisy and Roach were safe in the tavern’s stable, they made their way in. A few heads turned towards them, but they were mostly ignored, which was good. Especially so since Jaskier was at great risk of being recognised these days.

“Are there any rooms available?” he asked, as they stopped at the bar.

The barkeep nodded. “There’s one left.”

Jaskier paid up, even though Geralt protested (saying he would pay). He doubted very much he had the spare funds. Jaskier had too much coin these days, if there was such a thing _as_ too much. They made their way up, and he was glad to find the room had two spare chairs, a reasonably sized bed, and a table. Jaskier placed his bag – pulling a bottle of wine from it – and lute case down. He dragged the chairs over to the table, and set the wine upon it.

“We don’t have to drink,” he said, almost whispering. He was more than nervous, this had to go well, for his own sake. “But the option is there.”

Geralt curtly nodded, setting his own bag down, sitting across from him. “It’s been a long time, Jaskier.”

“It has been… I still think of the mountain.”

“I…” Geralt’s eyes slipped closed. He grimaced, as if it hurt him, as if it cut him deep. “Jaskier, I’m sorry. I blamed you for things that were out of our hands.” He opened his eyes. “I blamed you for what destiny had set on my path, in one angry moment. And that _one_ fucking moment ruined everything.”

Jaskier wanted to reach out and tell him that since their souls were bound, it was a little his fault, because he’d been there to set him on the right paths. But he didn’t, he let Geralt speak. Let him apologise.

“Once you were gone, I realised what an arse I’d been, but I couldn’t take it back because you’d already left. I tried searching for you, a few times, but I was a coward. I was scared that you would push me away, and you’d be right to do so. I hurt you.” His eyes shined, like he wanted to cry, and that would be a first for them. For Geralt to be vulnerable enough to let Jaskier see him cry. “I’m so sorry.”

Jaskier smiled, slowly, gradually, reassuringly. “Geralt, I accept your apology. It was a moment of anger, and if I hadn’t been so… destroyed by it, I would have seen sooner that it was nothing more than that. But circumstances meant that I dwelled on it for too long.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you decided our friendship cannot be reclaimed. I’ve been awful towards you.”

“Because you closed yourself off then, but I can tell that’s changed now.”

“It has.”

“Good. If you can talk about your emotions, then you’re less likely to push people away by blowing up in their faces.”

A guilty look crossed Geralt’s face. “Jas–”

“Shh, it was a joke.” He rested his hand atop the table, drumming his fingers off it. Unsure of what to say next, and yet, words spilled out of his mouth anyway. “I never stopped singing about you.”

“I know. I latched onto that, hoping you didn’t hate me.”

“Hate you? No. I could never.” Maybe he would have hated him, just a little, if it hadn’t been for the curse saving him from that. “I sang about you because I wished to still be at your side, wished those words had never been said. I was… torn up, but hatred was never present, because I couldn’t forget all the good days we’d had.”

“I… didn’t deserve that.”

“I knew, deep down, that you were hurting that day. I shouldn’t have tried to make light of it.” Jaskier sighed, grabbing the wine bottle, cracking it open, and taking a small swig. “I’m sorry too.”

“You don’t need to be.” Geralt half smiled, it was awfully soft and kind. “Ciri told me all about you getting to know her. I can hardly believe Queen Calanthe let you near her.”

Jaskier huffed a small laugh, setting the bottle down. “She did threaten to cut my balls off, more than once, and on one memorable occasion, she threatened to pull out all my teeth. Still, she let me return to Cintra to sing in court, and let me talk to Ciri.” He smiled at the memories. “She’s changed so much since those days.”

“She had to, destiny didn’t let her go easily.”

“No, destiny holds onto every one of us, and there is nothing we can do to escape it.”

“That sounds knowing.”

Jaskier glanced to the bottle, to the window that stared out at the town, to Geralt’s golden eyes. “That’s because it is.”

“You never cared for your destiny before.”

“I never thought about mine. Yours, yes.” And it turned out destiny had entwined them together long ago anyway. Being concerned for Geralt’s destiny was part of his destiny. “Ciri needed an eye kept on her, and you’d tried to reject your destiny, and doing that doesn’t work out too well.”

Geralt reached for the bottle, toying with it. “I’ve realised.” He took a swig, shaking his head. There was a concern to his gaze. “Do you know what destiny holds for you?”

He wanted to say it, he really did, but just because they had a soul bond didn’t mean Geralt would be ready to hear about that. Nor would he be ready to hear about his love for him. Destiny had tossed Geralt back into his life, he had to be careful, gentle. “I think so…”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Mm, maybe, soon. I’m not entirely sure yet.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, tilting his head ever so slightly. (It was barely noticeable, but Jaskier was still trained to notice every little thing about Geralt.) “But Yennefer and Ciri have told you something? Parts?”

“They have ideas, but destiny works in mysterious ways. Who knows if they’re right?”

“Hmm.” A sceptical hum. He didn’t quite believe him, which was fair.

Jaskier smiled, softly. “I don’t think any of us can be sure of what our destiny is, unless one was to enact the law of surprise and find out what that surprise was…”

Geralt tossed an unimpressed glare towards him.

“I speak the truth.”

“I hate that you’re right.”

Jaskier huffed a laugh, taking another sip from the bottle. “I’m right more often than you give me credit for.”

“Hm.”

“Don’t be incredulous about it.”

Geralt shook his head, the tiniest amused smile pulling at his lips. Even now, with his emotions laid bare, his expressions could be small and hidden. There was a long pause, his eyes deliberating something. “Would you like to come back with me, to the house? It’s only a day’s ride away from here.”

Jaskier felt a warmth spread over him. The very idea, of going with Geralt, to his home… It was fundamental. “You’d really want me there?”

A flash of pain crowded Geralt’s eyes. He reached over, grasping Jaskier’s hand. “Yes. You’re my friend. I want you in my life. I… _need_ you.”

His lips trembled. To hear those words spoken so clearly, it meant the world. “Geralt… I...”

Again, pain flashed in his eyes. Guilt and regret over his actions, no doubt. “I will say it again, I will say it a thousand times, I’m _sorry_.”

Jaskier patted Geralt’s hand with his other. “And I will tell you, every time you say it… I forgive you.”

Geralt choked on a wet laugh, drawing back and letting Jaskier’s hand go. “Thank the gods for that.”

It was quite possibly the most open moment that had ever been shared between them. A lot had happened over the years, moments here and there. From caring touches when trying (and failing) to temporarily patch each other up when injured, to making dinner in the woods with a calm silence hanging over them. And yet, this moment, was the most profound.

“When we go, will Ciri and Yennefer be there?”

“Yes, they’re home right now.”

Jaskier grinned. “Good, they still owe me a dinner.” At Geralt’s confused look, he continued, “I was meant to have dinner with them last time, but we got distracted, and I left before I had anything.”

Geralt attempted to bite back a smile. “Typical.”

“Yeah, well, I had a good reason.”

“I’m sure you did.”

Jaskier hummed, picking the bottle up once again. He studied it, rather than taking a drink. “Want to get pleasantly drunk before the end of the night?”

Geralt nodded, his eyes dancing with something Jaskier couldn’t name. “Shall I get us another bottle?”

He grinned. _He did_ pay for the room, Geralt getting some wine would hardly put too much of a dent in his pocket. “Yes, we’ll be needing it.”

Geralt smiled, and it was so open, so beautiful. This day, it had made everything heal like he’d hoped it would when imagining them meeting again. It was _better_ than his imagination because Geralt was happy and smiling… Jaskier was content, and he was ready, for a new song to begin.

One of open love rather than longing heartbreak.


	3. Don't Say No

Daisy banged her head into Jaskier’s chest, snuffling at his neck. As if she was searching for food. “It’s my perfume, girl. I’ve got no treats for you right now.”

Something spherical flew in the air and Jaskier held out his hand, catching it. With a furrowed brow, he glanced towards it, lighting up as he noticed it was an apple. Geralt was staring at him, lips parted. Jaskier smirked and turned back to Daisy. He withdrew his dagger, carving it up and feeding her the pieces. She butted his chest in appreciation once the apple was all gone.

Jaskier gave her a good pat on the neck. “Thanks,” he said, looking towards Geralt, who had busied himself with Roach. “Apples are Daisy’s favourite.”

“Hm, good.” Geralt appeared at his side, brow knitted. “Your reflexes are much faster.”

He hummed, turning towards him. “Comes naturally now. Learning to fight may be the worst and best thing that has happened to me.”

“You’re rougher.”

“Yeah. The war, opportunistic bandits, desperate people wanting to hurt me with anything but a sword… Travelling alone has been worse in these years than it ever has been.”

“Jask–”

“And that’s why I have a dagger and why I know how to make a swift kill.” He flicked a quick smile, whirling away to climb atop Daisy. “Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

Geralt frowned, clearly wanting to say more (and wasn’t _that_ a new thing), but he complied and mounted Roach anyway. Jaskier smiled and gestured for Geralt to take the lead, which he did. Soon enough, they were cantering along the road, trees lining it, and the sun dipped between the leaves, shining upon them at intervals.

Eventually, they slowed into a gentle trot, right beside each other. They were lucky Roach and Daisy got along so well, they seemed comfortable with one another. Jaskier hummed softly, feeling a little high on joy. Something had reignited within him the second Geralt had apologised. Like the wound had healed. It had already scarred over, already done its healing, especially once the curse left him, but hearing what he needed to hear, it made the scar fade into a white line, practically forgotten.

Maybe he shouldn’t have forgiven Geralt so quickly, but he truly was at his mercy. His feelings choking him. No doubt because of their _connection_. How could he stay angry when his one true love apologised and looked at him with the softest eyes, the softest expressions he had ever seen upon his face?

“Are you humming Fishmonger’s Daughter?” Geralt asked, coming closer as he nudged Roach into sidestepping.

Jaskier blinked, caught a little off guard. He chuckled to himself, _ah_. “I hadn’t noticed, but it seems I was.”

“I’m still bewildered at how popular that song is.”

“It’s catchy, and an old favourite among the masses.” Jaskier thought back, to all the times he’d sung it at banquets and festivals. People clapping and stomping their feet. “But I will admit, it’s incredibly _crude_.”

“Hm. Will you sing? I missed your voice.”

He choked on air, truly getting caught off guard this time, as he nearly jolted right off Daisy’s back. “But, isn’t my singing like fillingless pie? I know you’ve apologised for your words on the mountain and you’re actually capable of speaking now, but I remember very clearly that you do not like my singing, so I’m a little confused as to–”

“ _Jaskier_ … I like your singing.”

Falling off Daisy in shock was becoming more and more likely as the conversation went on. “So you lied.”

“Yeah.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“I was… I thought if I insulted your singing you would have left me alone to deal with the djinn.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and shook that day from his mind before it could sneak in. “You should have known it would have had the opposite effect.”

Geralt looked as if someone had kicked him in the ribs a thousand times, his eyes downcast. “And I got you hurt because it did have the opposite effect.”

He twisted his mouth. “ _Well_ , I did disregard your feelings quite plainly. That day was a combination of our faults.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier glanced over, half glaring. “Use your words.”

Geralt huffed, more to himself by the sounds of it. “It was my fault.”

“ _Wow_. I’m impressed.” He mulled it over, really thinking back. The details hadn’t faded as much as they should have after thirteen years, but he had the curse to blame for that. “We were arguing like children, things got… out of control.”

“They did.”

Jaskier hummed, wishing to leave this conversation behind. He didn’t want them bringing up each horrible thing that had happened. It was in the past, and it had been _years_. Things had changed, they had changed. “Besides, none of that matters now. What _does_ matter is… how far are we away?”

Geralt glanced around, lips pursed. “We’ve made good ground. We’re not far, but not close either.”

“Right. Wanna get our girls into a gallop and see who’s fastest?”

“Roach will crush Daisy.”

Jaskier gaped, leaning forward to give Daisy a good pat. “Now, now, don’t listen to him, girl, I know you’ve got racing genes in you.”

Geralt chuckled, softly. “Racing genes? She looks like a work horse.”

“Her father was a prized racer, and her mother worked the fields. She was _not_ a cheap mare.” He stroked her again, smiling. “But you’re mine, Daisy, and we’re going to prove the witcher wrong, aren’t we?”

Daisy flicked her tail back and forth. He took that as a yes.

Roach huffed.

“Are you on or not?” Jaskier asked, mirth dancing in his eyes.

Geralt looked to him. His lips curled upwards, his eyes practically glowed. “I’m in.”

And they were off.

\--

“Jaskier!” Ciri shouted, running out of the house, as they approached it, having set up Roach and Daisy in the small stable.

“Hey, Ciri. How are you?”

She smiled as she came to a stop in front of him. “Good, but it’s been too many months since I saw you.” She looked to Geralt, her eyes darting between the two of them. “I see you found each other again.”

“In the midst of battle if you’ll believe it.” Jaskier glanced to Geralt, lips quirking upwards. It had been a strange way to meet again. He’d always expected it to happen in a tavern.

“Did Geralt have to save you?”

He gasped, stepping back. “ _Excuse me_ , but I know how to put up a good fight, and they were only bandits. _Thank you very much_.”

“To be fair,” Geralt cut in, “I only helped. I didn’t have to do any saving.”

“ _Thank_ you.”

Ciri looked far too amused. “I can hardly believe it. You are not the humble bard I remember.”

Jaskier supposed she had seen him do his fair amount of running since knowing him. “Humble bards sometimes have to learn how to fight.”

She hummed, smiling. “Well, I’m glad you’re together again.” She nodded to Jaskier. “He apologised?”

“More than once.”

“Good. He’s been practising his speech for years.”

“ _Ciri_ ,” Geralt hissed, shaking his head. “You weren’t supposed to tell him that.”

“It’s _true_.”

Jaskier felt a warmth bloom within him. Geralt did care… If he thought about it enough for Ciri to make a comment like that, then he’d been waiting for this day as much as Jaskier had. “That’s good to hear.”

Geralt glanced down at the ground, head turned away from Jaskier. “I just wanted… the words to be right.”

Ciri lit up. “He’d practice in front of me and Yen. He was a disaster, Jaskier.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Geralt humphed. “It didn’t happen like that.”

“It did,” Ciri said, firmly. “And don’t pretend it didn’t. Jaskier deserves to know that you tried your very best to make the greatest apology speech the world has ever known.”

Jaskier chuckled, it was good to see how the two interacted. “Well, that makes it even more heartfelt.”

Geralt stayed quiet for a moment. “Come on, Jaskier, I’ll show you to your room.”

Ciri smiled, a shining look in her eye, that only scared him. “He’s staying?”

“Yes, he’s staying.”

“Good. He belongs here.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows but said no more as he stalked towards the house. Jaskier shook his head slowly, the meaning of her words had an implication, and he wasn’t ready yet. He hoped his expression told her that, as he followed after Geralt.

The room was, of course, the small spare one. But that wasn’t too bad. Like he had suspected last time, it was likely the only room they had left over. It was just as sparse, just as empty. Bleak and almost cold. If Jaskier was going to be staying for any considerable time, he would have to decorate a bit.

“I know it’s small, but it’s all we have,” Geralt said.

“Believe me, this will do.”

“I’ll let you get settled.”

He carefully leant his lute against the wall as Geralt slunk away. He hadn’t expected to be in this room again, not anytime soon anyway, but here he was. He peered out the window, noticing that Ciri was now outside the back, carrying a basket. Geralt appeared suddenly, catching up to her. They smiled at each other, kicking up a conversation as they walked further into the woodland. Jaskier presumed they were foraging for ingredients.

There was such a warm relationship between them, it was so lovely to see.

“How much have you told him?” Yennefer asked, sweeping into the room. Her voice had been so sudden, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

He turned around, instantly deflating. “I haven’t told him anything yet. Not about the curse and not about the bond.”

“You should. The bond affects you both, it may explain some things.” She tilted her head back. “I’m definitely not going to tell him. If it comes from you it may soften the blow.”

Jaskier sighed, shaking his head. Some things never changed. “Because it’s destiny.”

“Yes.”

“Even without the bond, it would still be destiny, wouldn’t it?” Jaskier sat on the bed, looking up at Yennefer. At her pinched brow, her frustrated stance. “Destiny is cruel and horrible and scary, it would bring people with matching souls together regardless.”

Yennefer tilted her head, pursing her lips. “Yes, that sounds like destiny. A perfect match would be too much for it to ignore. The bond, however, makes it blatant, makes it visible. It connects you.”

Jaskier flopped down, covering his eyes with his arm. “I hate this…”

“If you told him, you might hate it less.”

“Sure…” He scoffed. “Because I trust myself to tell the only person I love _truly_ , a person who hates destiny, that we are bound together, and our souls are matching.” He groaned, frustrated, a little angry at his family for doing this to him. For cursing him with a spell that was supposed to be anything but. “Why _me_?”

The bed dipped, and he didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Yennefer was glaring at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t love being connected to him. At least with this magic, it’s not fake.”

That last part… she sounded soft, nostalgic.

Jaskier let his arm slip from his eyes. “You loved him, does it ever fade?”

“I don’t think love ever completely leaves you, but I can never be sure if it was love.” She smiled, faintly, barely noticeable. “Don’t let him slip from your fingers, Jaskier. He’s been missing you for years, and I’m inclined to call it love.”

“ _Don’t_. We have no idea, and I’m not willing to risk it all to find out.”

“At the very least, tell him about your bond. It needs no mention of your curse or your love.”

Jaskier glanced away, staring at the opposite wall. “I’ll think about it.”

Yennefer patted his leg, standing. “I’ve been around him constantly for years. Trust me.”

He looked to her, finding sincere eyes staring back. “I would, but I only have so many years, and I’ve already lost him once.”

She hummed, opened her mouth, thought better of it, and left the room. Clearly to leave him to wallow. He liked wallowing, it often brought on creativity, something he sorely needed at any given point in the day. He pulled his notebook from his bag and began to write some short and strangled lyrics. Creativity was there, but the conversation was pulling on his mind.

A bond. Even now, it was still laughable, still shocking. How was he supposed to cope with that, knowing that Geralt may not feel anything remotely like the feelings he stored in his heart? The bond only made their feelings more intense, no matter what form they came in. He could pine forever, and Geralt could ‘care’ (as Yennefer said) about him forever, and nothing would come of it because their feelings would be different.

What kind of shit bond was that?

Destiny…

He wondered what he had done to deserve it, this life. To meet someone new and promising, to fall, to be broken and destroyed, to reclaim and move on, to reconcile and lift back off, to wish for more when it may very well not be welcome. Jaskier was used to falling in and out of love, it was his way, but Geralt stood out, no doubt because of the blasted bond, or because their souls _matched_.

He closed his eyes, allowing time to slip from him. He didn’t care. He was pretty sure thinking of the bond was a hundred times worse for him than the curse had been. And the curse had kept him a heartbroken fool for six years. The knowledge of the bond had made him lovesick for months.

There was a knock at his door, and Geralt was there, peeking his head around it. Fuck. He wasn’t exactly ready to see him, not while Yennefer’s words were circling in his mind.

“Hey,” he said, sitting up, rubbing his forehead.

“Wanted to check on you. It’s been hours.”

Jaskier furrowed his brow. Huh. He must have dozed off. “I was tired. The last few days have been rough.”

Geralt leant on the doorframe, folding his arms. His eyes were soft. “Do you often get attacked by bandits?”

“No, not often. I didn’t expect so many though.”

“Hm.” Geralt paused, glancing over his shoulder before looking back. “Yennefer and I need help making dinner. Care to join us?”

Jaskier stood, feeling a little shaky still from sleep. “What are you making?”

“A stew. With venison. We have a lot of spare meat.”

“Guess it’s lucky I’m here. Riding always gets me hungry.”

Geralt pushed off the door with a smile. “Maybe you shouldn’t have made us gallop so much.”

“Ehh. Why not?” Jaskier flicked his head to the side, quirking an eyebrow. “I proved you wrong, didn’t I?”

“Hm.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Jaskier moved past him, smiling. “I wasn’t wrong about those genes.”

Geralt followed him out, leaving the door ajar. “Roach is starting to get old.”

“Uh-huh, blame her age, _okay_.” He let his words lie for a second, as they walked through the house. Geralt chuckled in response, and Jaskier continued, “But is it really time, again?”

“Unfortunately, yes, almost.”

Jaskier hummed as they walked into the kitchen. Yennefer narrowed her eyes at him, slightly tilting her head, and he shrugged in reply. Geralt didn’t seem to notice their secret conversation, too busy staring at the diced meat atop the bench.

“Does that need to be put over the fire?” he asked, pointing at it.

Yennefer nodded, not looking up from chopping carrots. “Yes, if you don’t mind. Jaskier, I need you to help me with the vegetables.”

Jaskier moved to her side and took whole carrots into his hands. “Peeled and diced?”

“Yes.”

“Got it.”

They worked well as a team, getting all of the ingredients of the stew together, dumping it all in the pot over the fire. It would take a few hours to boil and simmer, no stew could claim to be one if the meat was tough or if the vegetables were hard. At least by Jaskier’s standards it wasn’t.

He was glad for the fact he would be able to sit down with the three of them and pretend it was all normal. That there were no secrets he was keeping from Geralt. That Yennefer and Ciri didn’t know as much as him about it, or more that they were perhaps keeping from him (he doubted they had told him everything).

But finally getting the dinner that he was apparently (but not entirely) summoned for once was worth it. He just wasn’t sure what would come of all of this. He was going to be staying here from now on, with Geralt, Ciri, and Yennefer extremely near.

He supposed it would work itself out, or that he would get used to the routine, but he couldn’t help but feel this had the recipe for a complicated mess. What with him and Yennefer still being on terse but friendly terms. And him being soul bonded to Geralt…

He hoped, sincerely, that it wouldn’t become a mess. But when had anything ever worked out like that?

\--

Ciri burst into his room one morning, thoroughly waking him up. He’d been planning to wake up slowly, perhaps pull out his notebook and start writing. He squinted at her, wondering why she was intruding on his space, during the fine early hours of the day. Normally, the three of them left him alone in the morning, that was the routine they had fell into. Only disturbing one another in their rooms when it was urgent.

It had been a couple weeks since he and Geralt found each other again, and they had fallen back into their relationship as if it were the old days, but with Geralt actually admitting they were friends. Jaskier was even making progress with Yennefer, as they slowly let go of the past to start afresh, which was working out well so far.

Things were… good. It was a nice place to rest. Almost as nice as Oxenfurt, except, in his little room, he was able to brighten it up how he liked because it was _his_. There were new flowers in a vase on the table every day, freshly picked from the woods.

“Ciri?” Jaskier said, sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Geralt is going to ask you something today. Don’t say no.”

“Why would I say no?”

Ciri thinned her lips, folding her arms. “It might… bring back an old painful memory.”

Jaskier furrowed his brow, trying to work out what that meant. “Okay… I’ll try not to say no.”

“Good.” She swivelled around, leaving his room, closing the door behind her.

He stared at it, the door, wondering when Geralt would ask. Or what he would ask. A painful memory didn’t give a clear idea to what that meant. There were many painful memories when it came to Geralt, of course there were, but that didn’t mean he would refuse something just because it may have been painful.

Despite Ciri’s words in the morning, nothing happened until the evening. They had just finished dinner, and were clearing up, when Geralt caught his elbow, asking to talk in private. Jaskier did not miss Yennefer’s smirk, nor Ciri’s knowing look. Geralt took him outside, where the soft glow of the sun setting glanced over them gently, the leaves of the trees allowed for small shadows to be cast upon them.

“Do you like it here, Jaskier?” he asked, voice gentle.

“Well, the spare room is _cosy_ , but not unwelcome. And I’m sure if I took a trip into Novigrad, I could find a more suitable bed for the room.” He smiled. “I like it here. I like being near you again, I like getting to know Ciri, I like not hating Yennefer. The house suits us all, I think.”

“Good, that’s good.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, watching as Geralt shifted through multiple expressions, but somehow, landed on a form of nervousness. “That’s not what you wanted to ask me is it?”

Geralt huffed a laugh, his eyes set on the ground. “No, I’m getting there.”

“It’s only me, Geralt. I’m hardly going to bite your head off for a question.” No matter how painful, no matter if it cut him deep, he wouldn’t get angry, not when it was Geralt asking.

“I…” He looked up, looking into Jaskier’s eyes. Sighing, he glanced elsewhere, minutely shaking his head, before settling back on his eyes, sighing once again. He was certainly struggling. “You once asked me to run away from a dragon hunt to go to the coast with you… Do you still want to go?”

Jaskier widened his eyes. “You want to go? _Now_. If I said yes, would we set out at first light?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, gradually, he felt as if his entire being was lighting up. “Do you know why I suggested that? Why I suggested the coast?”

Geralt shook his head, but there was a hint of a smile, an apprehensive one. He was still awaiting an answer, and he would have to wait a while more.

“Because I imagined, up on that mountain, warm sand between our toes, and beautiful views ahead of us, and I knew, we needed that. Something peaceful, something that didn’t require you to be a monster hunter. For one moment.” Jaskier looked down, smiling privately to himself. “I knew doing that, going there, would please me, that it would please you… Life is too short for me, and I wanted something we’d never had on our adventures. A calmness, between friends, in a beautiful location.”

But by the gods, how he did wish it was between lovers, not just friends.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, gently, guilt lacing his tone, “I’m sorry I’ve made you wait so many years. But I would love to go with you now.”

“As I would love to go with _you_.” Jaskier beamed at him, softness laying upon his features. “We can travel along the coast road, and I can sing in taverns, and sing on the beach… We can find private corners to rest in, and inns overlooking the sea to sleep in. We can discover what living freely can mean, with plenty of coin in our pockets, with no worry. And _you_ can _forget_ about any contracts, unless they’re truly urgent.”

Geralt chuckled. There was a joy there, so much joy. “I can’t just forget what I am to the people, Jaskier. What you made me be to them.”

“They’ll understand once I sing of the grand White Wolf needing a holiday every so often. I’m serious that this plan, when I concocted it on the mountain, was a spur of the moment idea, the first thing that came to mind because I didn’t want to die on one of our adventures before we got to have time away, away from everything for a while.”

“Then, no contracts, unless they’re urgent.” He stepped closer to Jaskier. “I want this to be… what you wanted it to be. This was your idea first.”

“We’ll go with the flow, let our instinct take us to the right place, and we’ll follow the road from there. That’s all it needs to be, for now.” Jaskier wanted to reach out, pull Geralt close, and show him everything he truly wanted, but he held back, barely. “As long as you’re there with me, I don’t mind what we do.”

Geralt – very softly – gave Jaskier the best smile he had ever seen plastered on his face. “That’s all it needs to be?”

“Yes. Just us, against the entire coast.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.”

Geralt’s eyes turned awfully gentle, as he slightly tilted his head. “I can imagine you gathering a crowd in the warm air, singing and performing. I’d watch from the side-lines, truthfully cheering you on.”

Jaskier briefly closed his eyes, almost able to taste the salt in the air, able to hear the crashing waves, the warmth on his skin in the dying afternoon. “You would be quiet and stoic at first, I think, but as I flick the occasional glance towards you,” He opened his eyes, staring into Geralt’s, “that’s when you start to join in, clapping along with others. And for once, people will believe you enjoy my singing.”

Geralt ducked his head, huffing, amused. “I wish we were already there.”

“We will be, soon.” Jaskier took one step forward, leaning down slightly to catch Geralt’s eyesight. “Don’t put this trip on a pedestal, don’t worry about how it may or may not go. It’ll be good because we’ll be there, together. That’s _all_ I want.”

“It’s all _I_ want.” Geralt looked at him, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. He took another step, their chests were almost touching, and suddenly, his arms were around him, pulling him close. A… hug. Gods be dammed, Geralt was hugging him.

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt in an instant, hooking his chin on his shoulder as Geralt hid his face in his hair. They didn’t do this, they never did this. But here they were… at the back of the house, in the woods, hugging, planning on leaving for the coast first thing tomorrow. It was almost romantic, but it wasn’t, as much as his mind would like to call it that. Geralt was warm, the hug was warm, and Jaskier’s chest tightened. This one gesture, this _one_ tiny act, had made him fall in love with Geralt just a little bit more.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh air surrounding them. He was at peace, in Geralt’s arms. And for the first time in seven years, his heart felt safe again, even if his true feelings were concealed. That had always been the case, and it would be the case for forever more. It didn’t bother him, not really, not when he had Geralt at his side. _And they were hugging_.

Would it become a thing? He sincerely hoped so. Because hugging Geralt was like hugging sunshine with how tight and warm his chest had become.

Gods, he did love him.

Geralt pulled back after what felt like eons, gleaming brightly. “Tomorrow, we will head for the coast, and see what it brings.”

Jaskier couldn’t hold back his bursting grin. “Let’s hope it brings nothing but joy for us.”

“Let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If ya enjoyed drop a comment! I'd love to know what you think :D


	4. The Coast

“We’re heading to the coast.  
For the warm sand.  
For the right to boast.  
Of adventures grand.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow as he settled on his bedroll.

“Yeah, no, you’re right. It’s shit.” Jaskier placed his lute to the side, stretching his arms out as he too lay down for the night. “I’m too tired to compose and, really, I couldn’t think of any good rhymes.”

“Not all your songs do rhyme.”

“That’s true…”

Geralt stared at him for a long moment. He was on his side, facing towards Jaskier. His bedroll was much closer than it ever used to be, when they travelled together before. Before, he would often sit at the opposite side of the camp, at the other end of the fire. But not tonight, tonight he was so near, right beside him.

“This feels right,” Jaskier whispered, letting the words tumble from him before he could determine what he meant. “You and me, camping, travelling.”

“You hate camping.”

“It’s less annoying when you’re here, believe me.”

Geralt cast his eyes away. Jaskier didn’t mean to say things that made Geralt feel guilty, or regretful. Of course, many things had changed with them, but Jaskier didn’t regret his sole adventures either. It was… complicated. “Glad I’m here then, no one needs an annoyed Jaskier.”

Jaskier gasped, placing a hand at his chest. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You get cranky when annoyed and when you get cranky, you put yourself in danger by letting your heart speak before your head.”

“That’s…” He rolled his eyes, laughing. “Sometimes, I forget.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows. “Forget what?”

“How long we’ve known each other. It feels like months, or a few years, at most.” He smiled. “And yet, it’s been decades. You know me, all too well.”

“For a human, you’re sense of time is completely off.”

Jaskier shrugged, amusement thick in his voice as he said, “I’m a bard, what is time when you’re always travelling? It blurs together.”

“Hm. Time can be like that.”

“I know I’m human,” He swallowed, thickly, gods, he hated thinking about this, “and that I don’t have all that much time in this world, but that doesn’t mean I have to count the days either. I’ll _live_ to the day I die. Really live, how I want to.”

Geralt’s lips twitched upwards, but there was a sorrow to his eyes. “You’re good at living, Jaskier. Better than most.”

“Thank you. I do try. Most would find it foolish, to think I can brush with death so many times and keep launching myself into travel that could get me killed…” He trailed off, mulling it over. A soft smile touched his lips. “But why be scared when there’s so many adventures still to be had?”

“You’re starting to sound like Borch again.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“No…” Geralt quirked an eyebrow, lifting his head slightly. “What did you do when monsters caught up to you?”

“Jumped on the back of Daisy and ran for our lives.” Jaskier shrugged one shoulder, nonchalantly. “I never wanted to shy away from adventure once I got a taste for it.”

“More like you wanted inspiration for your songs.”

“That too.”

Geralt lay his head back down, staring for a long moment. “I’m glad you have Daisy to get yourself out of situations.”

Jaskier glanced to her, smiling. “She’s a good one.”

“Hm. She is. She loves you.”

“I’d hope so. I give her enough treats.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “There’s no better way to gain the trust of an animal, than with food.”

Jaskier chuckled, nodding vehemently. “Those are words to live by.”

Geralt nodded.

“Truly, I did miss this. More than anything.”

“I missed it too.” Geralt closed his eyes. “Shouldn’t have been a coward.”

Jaskier thinned his lips. “What’s done is done. We’re here now.”

“You’re too... forgiving.”

“Only towards you.” His mind screamed for him to admit his love, to say it, while they were at a calm, in the night, lying close. Soft and smiling, joyous. “We’ve been through too much for me not to forgive.”

Geralt frowned. “Still...”

“Geralt... it’s been so many years, and you cared enough to practice your apology... How am I not supposed to forgive you completely?” He twisted his mouth, tilting his head away. “I won’t pretend it doesn’t sting, even now, but I’m getting there. Your apology helped immensely.”

“I... I’m grateful, Jaskier, because I don’t–”

“It’s okay. Don’t, don’t worry about it.”

Geralt gave a small smile. “I’ll try not to.”

Jaskier went for a smile, but was quickly interrupted by a yawn. His eyes suddenly felt heavy and they stung. “I think it’s time to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier,” he said, fond.

“Night, Geralt.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and felt content. The wound was less than a white line now, barely visible, as if it had never been there, gone and healed, for the first time. And he was glad for that. Glad that reconciling with Geralt had opened up new knowledge. That Geralt really did care, had always cared. It shouldn’t have been a revelation, but it had felt like it. Because as much as he’d said he cared with actions, Jaskier dealt in words, and hearing the truth be spoken meant a lot more.

The next thing he knew, a bright light was shining in his eyes and morning had dawned on them. He sat up, stretching, noticing that Geralt was already awake and tending to Roach. Jaskier got up and packed up his things, slinging them over Daisy’s back.

“In which direction shall we head? North west, or south west?” Geralt asked as he secured his bags upon Roach.

“Let’s continue west and see where we end up. If there’s no town in this specific route, then… how about we head slightly north?”

“Sounds spontaneous enough for me.”

Jaskier laughed. “Good.” He mounted Daisy, giving her a good pat. “Ready for another day, girl?”

She whinnied in reply.

He looked to Geralt, who had just jumped atop Roach. “Ready?”

Geralt smiled, urging Roach into a walk. “Ready.”

\--

Jaskier breathed in, deeply. The salt in the air, the sea on the horizon, as blue as the finest garments ever woven. The coast… They were there, finally, for the break they had needed but never got to have. Geralt was smiling, in a way Jaskier hadn’t quite seen before. There was the joy, happiness, but there was an overwhelming sense of longing to the smile too.

They were atop a hill, staring outwards. There was a town in the distance, perhaps the first of many they would visit on their trip.

“What do you want to do first?” Geralt asked. “Beach or town?”

Jaskier could only think of the beach, now they were there. Of sinking his toes into the sand, of Geralt at his side. To paddle in the sea, to feel young while doing it, dragging Geralt along with him. Leaving Daisy and Roach to watch, so they could silently judge them… Geralt made him feel _young_ , and the coast always brought back good memories.

“I wouldn’t mind going to the beach first.”

“The beach it is then.”

They spurred their horses into a trot, making their way down the hill, all the way down to the nearest beach. They kept it slow and easy, and Jaskier treasured the wind brushing through his hair, admired the waves rolling on in, longed for the soft sands. They tied Daisy and Roach to a post that stood in the sand dunes. Jaskier took a deep breath in and walked right to the beginnings of the beach. Where the sand was dry and sun-kissed, opposed to the wet and hard sand down by the waves, where the tide was slowly coming in.

He slipped his boots and socks off, dropping them into the sand. He wiggled his toes, grinning as Geralt came up beside him.

“Come on now, get those boots off. And forget about the armour too.” Jaskier quickly unbuttoned his doublet, whipping it off and leaving it by his boots. “We’re here to relax, not to fight anything.”

“Hm.” Geralt stripped his armour off, leaving him in that awfully nice shirt he wore, that ever so slightly hung off him. His boots followed suit along with his socks. He smiled gently as his feet sunk a little into the sand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a beach.”

Jaskier whacked him softly on the back. “Let’s enjoy it then, take our time with it.” He ventured forward, falling back against the sand, lying down. He didn’t care if it got in his hair, or if he would need to vigorously shake his clothing and wash it twenty times to get all the grains out. All that mattered was relaxing. He settled his hands on his stomach and crossed one leg over the other.

Geralt lay beside him a few seconds later. Lay very close indeed, which did not help Jaskier’s heart in the slightest. Geralt placed his hands behind his head, resting upon them, and he brought one knee up, as his other leg lay flat on the sand.

They lounged there, for a long while, soaking up the sun. And for the first time, Jaskier let the silence stretch out between them. Just having Geralt next to him, his presence alone, made this worth it. To come to the beach and lie upon the sand. That’s all it needed to be, their trip, for now, in this moment. Finding a place to stay would come after.

He didn’t know how long they had been lying side by side for, but, eventually, Jaskier craved to do something else. “Geralt?”

“Hm?” It sounded sleepy, but he seemed awake enough.

“Wanna come with me to the sea?”

“To paddle?”

“Yes.” He turned his head towards him, finding himself staring at golden eyes, boring into his skull.

Geralt smiled. “Could be dangerous, many creatures lurk in the sea.”

Jaskier batted his arm, tutting. “And if we don’t harm them, it’ll be fine. Besides, what creature is going to snag two harmless people from the shallowest waters?”

“Harmless?”

He waved him off, sitting up. “Harmless right _now_. We’re unarmed.”

Geralt hummed.

They both stood, brushing down the sand that had clung to them. Jaskier grinned at Geralt, slapping his arm with the back of his hand, walking towards the sea. He tossed a look over his shoulder as Geralt came up beside him, looking like he was having a good ol’ pleasant time. _Good_.

The walk from the soft sands, to the wet sand, to the sea seemed awfully long, and Jaskier got a weird itch. He smiled at Geralt, who raised his eyebrows, before Jaskier _ran_. He didn’t know what possessed him to do it, why he’d felt like he had to, but he’d _wanted_ to, and soon, Geralt was there and they were running towards the sea. Jaskier laughed, nearly losing footing as he did so. There was a light-heartedness, a freedom to running and laughing like this.

And Geralt was chuckling, slightly pushing Jaskier as they ran together. So Jaskier pushed back. It began a bit of a tug and pull as they ran on down, pushing and scrambling at each other, feet pounding against the hard sand now. And then, they were at the sea, the dying waves lapping at their feet.

Jaskier rolled up his trousers, breathing in hard, still laughing gently. “That was fun.”

Geralt grinned, his chuckles fading from his throat. “It felt good, to run when nothing is chasing us.”

“The amount of times we’d run from a situation to gain an advantage in the past…” He shook his head, huffing an amused breath. “Being carefree is the point of this.”

Surprisingly, Geralt stepped into the sea first. The shallowest bit, where the sand was thick and warm enough in the water. Possibly the best out of the three different kinds. Soft and warm came second. Hard, cold, and waterlogged came last. Jaskier followed suit, smiling as he stared out at the vast everlasting ocean beyond them.

“This is nice,” Geralt murmured, voice so quiet, Jaskier could have easily missed it.

“It is.” He longed to take Geralt’s hand into his own. Simply being there, in the water, staring out, felt so overly romantic, that he wanted nothing more than to _do_ something romantic. Or clamber for his notebook to write something down, or even reach for his lute and strum a few chords. “Do you see why this would have been a good idea? Before…”

Geralt ducked his head, nodding. “I do. I’m glad we’re here now.”

“Me too.”

Jaskier yelped as a large arm came down over him, and for a moment, he didn’t realise it was Geralt’s arm. Suddenly, he was tugged to Geralt’s side, and he dared to lean his head against his shoulder. It felt natural, for his head to be there. Felt natural to be pressed against Geralt’s side. To be held as they stared out. He put his own arm around Geralt, settling his hand on his shoulder.

It was possibly the most romantic thing that had ever happened to him, and yet, it was nothing but platonic.

“Once we get to the tavern in that town, you should play that tune you were humming on the way here.” Geralt smiled at him, gently. “Even if it has no lyrics yet, it would be nice to hear.”

Jaskier had been humming a tune, yes. It was part of a new song, to represent their journey on the coast. But to just play a tune? That sounded… nice. It would make for a good change. “That’s a good idea… And maybe, I could throw in a few jigs.”

Geralt laughed to himself. “Fishmonger’s Daughter?”

Jaskier chuckled, shaking his head. Him humming that subconsciously over the last week had really gotten Geralt interested in it, almost obsessed with it. “I might squeeze it in.”

And if this _was_ a romantic moment, in such a romantic setting, he was sure love confessions would be shared. But, no, all Geralt did was hold him closer to his side and continued to stare out at the sea, a small smile upon his lips. Jaskier closed his eyes, melting into the moment. The water continued to lap at their ankles, grounding him, reminding him that they were _here_. And there was not a place in the world he would rather be.

\--

It was only a small town, the one they’d spotted, but it had a tavern, and the tavern had a stable. They set up Daisy and Roach, making sure they had plenty of hay, before going inside. The tavern was loud and full of people, perhaps the whole town was here, enjoying the evening. Jaskier and Geralt had spent many hours on the beach, had allowed too much time to slip from them. They’d ended up sitting back on the softer sands, and Jaskier had wrote while Geralt lay down, helping Jaskier when he was struggling to find certain words.

The day was swiftly coming to a close, and they really needed a room. Nobody paid them much mind as they made their way in, possibly seeing them as no threat. After all, Geralt had decided to keep his armour off, had tucked it into one of their bags. Between them, they looked like nothing more than a soft bard and a large hulk of a man who happened to be carrying a bag with two scary swords in it, ending their day in a nice tavern. They were not the renowned Jaskier or the White Wolf at all, _absolutely not_.

Jaskier was going to be careful on this trip, especially with his choice of songs. He didn’t want too many people vying for their attention.

The tavern was extremely spacious, a lot of open areas, a lot of tables. It was clearly used for more than just drinking in this town. He would not be surprised if they pushed the tables to the side-lines during festivals, allowing space to dance.

“A cup of your best wine and…” He gestured to Geralt, so he could order for himself.

“An ale.”

Jaskier handed the appropriate coins over to the barkeep, who quickly got to making their drinks. Soon enough, a cup of ale and a cup of wine were placed in front of them. Jaskier was glad to take a sip of the wine, letting it coat his tongue. He hadn’t been in a tavern for a while now, relying on the shit wine from the house (Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri did not appreciate fine wines) and water to get him by. He was going to savour this… Erveluce. He could easily tell what it was, and was glad the barkeep had it in stock.

“Do you have any rooms spare?” Geralt asked.

The barkeep looked between the two of them, tilting her head back and forth. “There’s one left, _but_ , before you boys get your hopes up, it only has one bed.”

“That’s fine,” Geralt said quickly. Although he hadn’t consulted him, Jaskier had to admit it wouldn’t be the first time. It had almost become normal during their travels in the past, when coin was low.

They paid up and took their drinks to a corner in the tavern, where one of the few free tables stood. Once sat, Jaskier took a long pull from his cup, sighing with relief. To be in a warm tavern, with the best wine, at the coast, with Geralt… It was a dream. It felt as if it was just that. But it was very clearly real, very wonderfully happening.

“No one is even batting an _eyelid_ ,” Jaskier whispered, leaning forward slightly. “They would never know. I mean, it’s not as if I talk about your looks in my songs. As long as no one here knows you.”

Geralt glanced around. “Hm. Don’t think there is.”

“Good.” Jaskier took a sip of his wine. “This night is to be enjoyed.” He reached for his lute, taking it from its case. “Shall I play that melody?”

Geralt’s eyes shined in the light. “Yes.”

Jaskier grinned and sat upon the table, so that he was beside rather than facing away from Geralt. He rested his feet on his chair and pulled his lute into his lap. “Who would like to hear a tune?!” he asked the vast amount of people in the room.

Cheers followed, and even the barkeep lit up in a grin. Well, well. He did like a receptive audience.

“I’ll play a new melody I’m working on and then throw in a Fishmonger’s Daughter. After that, I’m up for taking requests. How does that sound?”

Another resounding cheer kicked up. Jaskier suspected a bard had not travelled through their town for some time. They had no idea who he was, or if he could sing or play well. Had no idea that almost every song he would sing or melody he would play tonight were his.

As the crowd settled, he played the first notes of his new melody. To represent the coast, their trip through it. It had a sunny feeling to it, a warm sense, of spring and summer, rather than the coldness winter could bring near the sea. He had started on the lyrics, but hadn’t found anything that had quite stuck yet. He knew he would talk about the sand, the sea, the people and towns. But, he wanted to mention Geralt to. That this was _their_ break, _their_ gentle adventure.

He glanced to Geralt several times while he played it, finding a gleaming smile upon his lips every time.

As the melody faded from his lute, a round of applause followed. With a grin, Jaskier launched into Fishmonger’s Daughter, tapping his foot off the chair as people all around clapped their hands exactly in time to the music. The reason he had created this song in such a particular way was to get people involved. Music was an expression of all kinds. To move, to dance, to sing, to play. Fishmonger’s Daughter allowed everyone to play a part in the song by clapping in time to the beat.

His favourite part was when the lyrics descended into sounds of ‘ba’ and ‘da’. At that point, the clapping took control of the end of the song and it was _brilliant_ , if he did say so himself.

And it did not go unnoticed that Geralt had been clapping along, grinning as he did so. Gods, he did love how in tune he was with himself now. It made for a good change, seeing the person behind the silence that he too often kept secret.

He started to take requests from there, and the people seemed enthusiastic in their choices. Clearly, they had sussed he was a good singer and player, and wanted to hear more from him. They even requested his own songs, not that they knew he was who he was. Just that he could pull off songs by the bard Jaskier. It was all fun and games until someone shouted out for ‘Her Sweet Kiss’. He was going to pass straight over that, go for another song someone suggested, but the whole tavern began to burst out that he should play ‘Her Sweet Kiss’. One even said he would be able to sing it well.

Jaskier didn’t have any breath left in his lungs, hardly expecting anyone to suggest _that song_. He chanced a glance at Geralt, who was staring out at the crowd.

No help there then.

“Alright, but I was planning for this one to be the last song of the night. Are you sure you want this one?”

Some people shrugged. Others shook their heads.

“Play it, bard!” one shouted. “It’s a good song!”

The majority of the tavern seemed to agree.

Right then. He had to play it, otherwise, he suspected an angry mob would be on his arse by dawn.

He readjusted his lute, sighing slightly. It was still a song of heartbreak, despite him and Geralt now being on better terms than ever before. It represented how he’d once felt. Nevertheless, he still felt weak, still felt that want. He wondered if the first version was more suitable nowadays.

Her Sweet Kiss had come after the mountain, during his travels to somewhere far, after being jealous and sad and angry and heartbroken.

But the first version, before the mountain, before the dragon, had represented his longing without honour, and Yennefer had nothing to do with it, she wasn’t mentioned at all in that version.

If he were a man of more resolve... Gods, he’d have left Geralt long ago if he had any morsel of resolve. But he didn’t.

He began the song, not realising his shoulders had hunched slightly, that his entire being had taken on a different demeanour. It most likely wasn’t visible to anyone else, but this song did things to him, it broke him down more.

“The fairer sex they often call it...”

As he sang, he found himself being less bitter, less heartbroken. Less like the song was cruelly ripping him from the inside out. Because Yennefer wasn’t in the picture in the same way anymore. Because while her sweet kiss had destroyed, and it _had_ , it had hurt them both, her kiss was no longer a thing when it came to Geralt.

He found himself gradually feeling lighter as the song went on. Until the word ‘weak’ stole his vocal cords from him. Until he realised he was still wanting. That he was still welcoming his sentence, giving Geralt his penance. That Geralt was his jury and judge, that it felt like his love for him, like Geralt himself was strangling him.

He still wondered if the metaphor landed.

“Her sweet kiss...” he finished off, strumming the last few notes almost quietly. He wasn’t quite sure if his voice was still working. He never meant to sing the song again. When it was often requested, he’d tell people it would be the last song if he did, and that got people to change their tune. Not this time though.

“You really got into character there!” one person shouted as the soft applause died down. “I hear Jaskier wrote it because destiny hurt his friend.”

Jaskier nodded. “I heard that too.”

He didn’t dare look to Geralt, didn’t dare chance a glance. If he did, he was scared what he’d find. Because if he worked it out... this trip would end in that instant.

Someone tossed a coin towards him, followed by a couple others. He smiled and handed them to Geralt. They were sharing money during this trip, and Geralt had just paid for a room, so his pouch needed filling back up more than his own did.

Jaskier slipped back into his chair, taking a long pull from his wine, nearly finishing the thing off. He smiled, humming the first melody to get Her Sweet Kiss out of his head, as he packed his lute away.

He looked to Geralt. “How was that?”

Geralt smiled, but there was a hint of something in his eyes he didn’t recognise. “You were great. You get the people involved and enticed like no other bard.”

“ _Thank you_. That is good to hear.”

Geralt downed what Jaskier could only assume were the dregs of his ale. “Another round?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and headed on up, likely using Jaskier sporadic earnings to pay for it. Well, all in a night’s quick work.

Geralt returned with another ale and another Erveluce. Jaskier allowed himself to get pleasantly drunk as the evening faded into the night. He and Geralt traded stories of the years they’d missed, which leant more in favour of Jaskier telling stories, as Geralt too often started talking about something Ciri did, only to become quiet. He’d told him that a lot of memories were clouded with the threat of Nilfgaard and the battles he had to partake in just to keep Ciri safe.

Jaskier suspected that Geralt was haunted by some parts of the last seven years. So he took over, speaking about his travels and adventures, of the year he spent at Oxenfurt to learn efficient combat. He had to leave out vast parts, or change them heavily as the curse had influenced a lot of his life. But other than that, his stories seemed to go down well. He had no doubt Geralt had probably noticed the lack of lovers in his stories.

That he had no songs for them, no heartbreak. Because his lovers had tended to be nothing more than a crushing weight. Some of them, he’d wanted to love, but through it all, the mountain won out.

“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten yourself killed by a vengeful cuckold. How did you survive at court?” Geralt said at one point.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve mellowed in my older age, I’m less reckless with who I...” He wanted to say fall for, because he tended to develop feelings easily for anyone, falling in and out of love as if it had gone out of fashion. But, ever since the mountain, his love for Geralt had been so intense (partly because of the curse, especially because of the bond), that he hadn’t been able to develop feelings for many others. His longing had overwhelmed any other possible love. “Well, I choose carefully when it comes to who I go with.”

“Hmm.” Geralt stared down at his ale. “And what of older offences?”

“The lords didn’t think twice once I told them they didn’t want to make a scene in court, because, surely, they didn’t want everyone to know how unlovable they were.”

“That’s... Hm.”

“What?”

“Clever and terrible.”

“I didn’t want to lose my balls from some lord wanting to cut them off.”

Geralt huffed a laugh, shaking his head. Yet, he said no more on the subject.

“Since you’re not with Yennefer...” Jaskier began, cautiously, perhaps carelessly curious, “have you had any other romances?”

“No. I’ve been too busy for that.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “I know a lie when I hear one, Geralt.”

Geralt sighed. “Few people want to love a witcher, Jaskier.”

 _He had, he did_. He just barely stopped himself from saying that. “You don’t try hard enough.”

“Maybe people don’t try enough with me.” Geralt shrugged, taking a long pull from his drink, finishing it off.

Jaskier didn’t press any further.

They headed up after another round, laughing as Jaskier stumbled a few times due to not looking where he was going. People’s feet were bothersome in a tavern. Some were too spread out and didn’t think for _others_. Despite Jaskier bringing up romance, Geralt hadn’t stopped the conversation from flowing, which was awfully nice.

As soon as they got into the room – humbly sized, with two windows, a large fireplace, and a generous bed – Jaskier placed his lute down on a chair, tucked into a table. He placed his other bag there too and stripped off his doublet once again. He was tired and slightly drunk and so ready to crawl under the covers.

So he launched himself onto the bed, bouncing from his jump, sighing with relief as he lay his head back.

A chuckle bloomed above him, and Jaskier cracked an eyelid open to see Geralt beside the bed, hair completely down, framing his face beautifully. There was a large grin, gleaming eyes, real joy plastered on his face.

“You’re something to behold, Jaskier.”

He quirked an eyebrow, one eye still closed. “What…?”

Geralt’s expression became _softer_ somehow. “You just are.” And he left it at that, going to light a fire for the night.

Jaskier didn’t quite know what to think with that. Geralt was, very clearly, a vastly different man these days. He talked about his feelings, he freely expressed himself – allowing others to see his happier emotions – and he actually actively showed that he cared. Jaskier had a feeling he wasn’t going to get used to it all quickly. Each time Geralt opened his mouth, another shock followed, and Jaskier had to reassess everything he knew about him.

Geralt returned soon after, shirtless and in his softer trousers. He slipped under the covers and lay on his back, staring upwards. Jaskier rolled on his side, staring at him. Eyes trailing down his soft beautiful hair, his strong jawline, his packed to the brim with muscles chest. He finally rested his gaze on his eyes, smiling slightly.

He wanted, badly, to say the words he barely kept from bursting out of him. “This day went well, didn’t it?”

Geralt turned his head to face him. And _there_ were those golden irises he loved so much. “I hope this is what the trip will be like. Peaceful.”

Jaskier repressed a snort. Peaceful was not what destiny often lay down for them in their path. “Me too. It was perfect, today.”

“Was it what you wanted?”

He stared deep into those golden eyes, memorising every small detail. Of course it was, today had been everything. And if the trip continued like this, it would stick in his memory forever. “More than what I wanted, _so much more_.”

Geralt smiled, so softly, so gently. “I’m glad.”

Jaskier glanced away, gods, how was he supposed to deal with Geralt like this? He was so… It was almost indescribable. It was like it was the soul bond. The more time he spent with Geralt, the more he felt as if the bond was tugging them closer together. And maybe that was just because he knew of it and was misinterpreting what effects it could have on them. But it did _feel_ like that, truly. Like this, their relationship, them being happy in one another’s company, was how destiny intended it to be.

“Where should we go tomorrow?” Geralt asked, voice quieter, eyes elsewhere. Still looking towards Jaskier, but they were distant, like he was imagining rather than paying attention.

“Anywhere the wind takes us.”

“Sounds like you’re relying on destiny.”

Jaskier smiled, wanting nothing more than to reach out and tell Geralt _everything_. “Maybe. But that’s not a bad thing, all of the time.” He placed his hand in the space between them, clutching the covers lightly. “Destiny brought you back to me.”

Geralt’s eyes snapped back into focus, staring at Jaskier’s hand. “It did…”

“Then we’ll see where it takes us next.”

“That’s… That doesn’t sound bad.”

Jaskier nodded, encouragingly. “That’s because it’s not.”

Geralt placed his hand near Jaskier’s, not quite touching. “I’ll follow you more than I’ll follow destiny.”

His breath hitched at that, and he reached out with one finger, brushing over the tips of Geralt’s. “And I’ll follow you.”

It sounded like it was too much, too sincere, too real to the very truth he wished he didn’t have to keep secret.

But Geralt beamed at him, and all worries melted away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayy!! They finally made it to the coast!! :D I wonder what will come next....
> 
> Come chat to me on [tumblr!](https://kateis-cakeis.tumblr.com/)


	5. Brushing With Death

Jaskier hopped off Daisy, furrowing his brow at the stables. “Who puts the stables at the edge of a village?”

Geralt shrugged, slipping off Roach. “A village that wants to entice people in.”

He hummed and grasped Daisy’s reins, walking her up to the stables. A frantic stable boy appeared out of nowhere, grinning at them both. The stables looked fairly large for what seemed like a small village. They had been travelling along the road for a few days since the first town, and hadn’t run into any place until now. It would be good to make a stop here.

The stable boy grinned at them. “Stables are free today, village has a festival on. Have a look around. I’ll look after your girls.”

Jaskier grinned. “Why thank you.”

The stable boy took Daisy and Roach from them, but they stayed to ensure the boy was putting them in the stables safely. Once they were satisfied, they ventured into the village, and… There were easily twenty stalls from what he could see.

“A festival... like this? In a village this small?” he said.

“I think it’s more of a fair.” Geralt peered at one stall that had various pastries on display.

“It’s our summer market,” the woman at the stall answered for them. “But we make the whole affair into a festival. Singing, dancing, bonfires. Even decorations.”

Jaskier noted the various pots of flowers dotted around, and the banners that hung from some of the houses.

“Seems like a lot of work for one village,” Jaskier said, looking further down the road. There were crowds and the stalls were filled to the brim.

“The nearest village to us contributes as well. It’s a joint effort. We go between the two each year.”

Geralt hummed. “We could spend some coin here, Jaskier.”

Jaskier moved closer to him, smiling. “Don’t let me get carried away.”

“I’ll try, but you’re a force.”

“Hm, I suppose I am.”

The woman grinned. “Do indulge. This market relies on the residents and travellers. We have an inn if you stay too long.”

Jaskier pointed towards the pastries and sweet looking bakes. “And what do you have here?”

“Sweet buns, gingerbread, cakes, croissants, and fruit tarts”

“Fancy sharing a sweet bun?”

Geralt nodded, handing over coins to the woman. “A sweet bun, please.”

Jaskier grinned as the woman handed it over, and Geralt split it in half, handing the bigger half to Jaskier. He took a small bite, instantly lighting up at the good taste. The woman looked overjoyed, and when he told her it tasted good, she beamed even harder.

They walked away from the stall and moved onto the next, finding themselves staring at some metal work. Armour and whatnot. They continued forth, paying no mind to that particular stall.

Geralt suddenly smiled very softly, as he swallowed the last bite of his half. “It’s been some time since I’ve indulged with something so sweet.”

“We need to get you out more,” Jaskier said, finishing off his bun. “That’s why this is so refreshing. You get to have fun, and I get to watch you having fun.”

Geralt chuckled, quietly. “I have fun.”

“This is a different _kind_ of fun.” Jaskier practically skipped over to the next stall, noticing small glass figures. “Ooo, what’s all this?”

“A lot of hard work is what it is,” the man said. He gestured to the woman next to him. “My wife and I are experts in the field of artful glass making.”

Geralt picked up a green dragon, examining it. “Very well done.” He placed it back down.

Jaskier noticed one that was a flat pendant on a leather necklace. He picked it up, realising it was a lute. The details on it were amazing, it had two colours running through it, different for the neck and the body. It even had the tiniest bit of etching, for patterns upon the lute.

“How much is this?” he asked, not able to take his eyes off it.

“That one? Twenty-five coins,” the man said easily.

The woman smiled gently. “You’re a bard. Clearly your lute means a great deal, that necklace would be perfect for you.”

He hummed and tried it on, its weight was good, and it settled nicely upon the top of his chest. The leather wasn’t the finest possible material for a necklace, but it would do.

“I’ll take it.” He pretty much threw the coins at them, eager to call it his. Usually, jewellery didn’t connect with him in such a way. He liked rings, they were good and fine and hefty. They allowed him to show off a little. But this necklace, it related to him. A lute, the instrument that meant the world to him, laying upon his neck, it was heavily symbolic.

And Jaskier did like his metaphors.

He moved away from the stall with a smile plastered on his face, fiddling with the glass pendant. “What do you think?”

Geralt’s eyes were bright as he said, “It suits you.”

“Yeah, I think it does too.”

They moved through the market, going from stall to stall. Most sold bakes and carved wooden figures. But a few did sell clothes and jewellery. There was one that was so filled with hats, they were stacked on top of one another. Jaskier picked one up, with feathers upon it. It was very pink.

“How do I look?” he asked, dropping it on his head, spreading his arms.

“Like an idiot.” Geralt smiled, eyes dancing with mischief. “If you buy that, I’ll pluck all the feathers from it and feed it to monsters for them to choke on.”

Jaskier barked a laugh, shaking his head. He whipped the hat off and placed it back down. “No, you’re absolutely right. Who in their right mind would wear such a thing?” He quickly looked up, raising an apologetic hand towards the person at the stall. “No offence.”

The person grinned, chuckling. “None taken, boy. You wouldn’t want to ruin your good looks with a hat made for those who want to draw attention away from their face. You’re much too young for that.”

Jaskier laughed, throwing his head back. He shook his head, again and again, trying to convey that the man was very wrong, but only startled small laughs came out. When he regained some form of composure, enough to speak, he said, “No, no, you’re mistaken. I’m not that young. I’m forty-seven.”

“Oh well then!” the man exclaimed. “You’re looking grand. You’re older than me, and I’ve already got grey hairs coming in. Whatever is your secret?”

“Creams, lots of them.”

“And for your hair?”

“Just luck, I suppose.”

The man shook his head, eyes slightly wide. “Then you have a lot of good luck.” He laughed to himself. “Now shoo, I stand by my statement. You need no hat, it would spoil your style, believe me.”

Jaskier gave a curt nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As they walked away, Geralt made a questioning noise, staring with a furrowed brow at him. “You’re forty-seven?”

“Yeah? I thought you knew my birth year.”

“I... do.” His brow furrowed further. “It’s only, it’s easy to lose track of how old you are when you look how you did at eighteen.”

Jaskier stopped, gaping at Geralt. What _the_ – “I _do_ _not_ look eighteen. My face has matured since then...!”

Geralt shook his head, before he seemed to concede. “Alright, maybe you don’t.”

“I was graced with good genes, that’s all.”

“Hm.” Geralt continued to walk forward. “Very good genes.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows at him, but he said no more. Instead of continuing the conversation, they went between the remaining stalls, picking up another sweet bake to share. At the last stall, full of art, Geralt picked up a picture of a bouquet of flowers, consisting of dandelions and buttercups. The picture was within a small circular frame, barely the size of his hand.

Jaskier fiddled with his hands as he stared at it. His name meant buttercup...

“How much for this?” he asked, cradling the picture between his fingers. His voice sounded… odd.

“All the art here is thirty-five coins, good sir.”

Geralt handed over the money with care, slipping the picture into his pocket. Jaskier said nothing, merely smiled at him.

They had made it through all the stalls, and all that was left for the festival was the bonfire in the distance, out on the field. They weaved their way out of the streets and onto the soft summer grass. There was a bit of a band playing. People danced to the music, hopping up and down, holding hands with their dancing partner. The bonfire was roaring and hot, and there was a smaller fire (not by much) nearby, with a large deer roasting upon it. The sea, that was only a short distance away, made for a beautiful backdrop.

“Newcomers!” a girl shouted, pointing at them.

An older woman came up to them, smiling. “Travellers are rare when it comes to this festival. Welcome.” She gestured to Jaskier. “I see you have a lute. Please, if you wish, you can join in with our band.”

Jaskier nodded, smiling slightly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well then, do sit and watch. I’m fairly sure the deer will be ready soon if you’re hungry.”

Geralt sat down, cross-legged, near to the bonfire, and Jaskier sat next to him, placing his lute beside his leg, resting back on his hands. It felt overly friendly, this festival. Everyone was happy, enjoying themselves. There was no sadness here.

A young man came up to them, after a while, handing them drinks. Smelt like ale. They accepted carefully and the man stood up straight, nodding to them.

“My mother says it’s important to welcome guests to the village. The festival is important to us, to have others to share it with is... good.”

Geralt raised his cup to him. “It’s a grand festival for your village.”

Jaskier nodded, smiling. “We’re loving it. The music is fantastic.”

The man nodded to Jaskier’s lute. “Will you play with them?”

“I might.” He took a sip of the ale. “Perhaps I will after this drink.”

“They will welcome you, as long as you know many common songs.”

“I just so happen to.”

“Good.” The man ran off, very young then. Barely eighteen if Jaskier was to guess.

“This is a nice village, good people,” Jaskier murmured into his drink, taking a long glug.

“Hmm. They care about this, a great deal.”

“It was probably a tribute to someone, at one point. Before it became like this.”

“Perhaps.”

Jaskier stuck to his word, once he finished his ale, he went up to speak with the band. He noticed another drink was shoved in Geralt’s direction, but he gave the man a coin this time. The drinks appeared to be funnelled from the tavern, with a few young men bringing them to all who were by the bonfire.

Jaskier held his lute close, waiting for instructions from the person who seemed to lead the band. They weren’t singing, it seemed, but he could work with that.

“Do you know all the common jigs?” the lead asked.

“I do.”

“Follow our lead then.”

Jaskier did so, following along with them. He knew every piece they started playing, and easily found his place alongside them. No one else had a lute, and so the sound of his had filled an empty hole in the music. He grinned at the people watching, smiled at the others playing. It was always good, to play with others, something he normally only did at court. This, being out on a field, next to a bonfire, playing his part in a band, was different but no less enjoyable.

Geralt was watching them, but when Jaskier found his eyes, he was always staring right back. There was a smile upon his lips every time, like he really did enjoy what was happening before him. There was a glint in his stare, of something that Jaskier could only call fondness. But it felt more than that somehow. He didn’t read into it too much.

They took a break when the deer was done, and portions were given out. Jaskier sat beside Geralt to eat, and they were very close to being pressed together. To anyone on the outside, they probably looked like an odd couple. More ales were shoved their way, and Jaskier even managed to get a cup of red wine. They paid up, enjoying themselves. Geralt had a slight flush to his cheeks, he was warm, and beaming like the sun. Jaskier felt how he looked, and that’s how he knew coming here had been a fantastic idea.

It wasn’t often Geralt was accepted into a festival like this, normally people only saw a witcher and wanted him out, lest he stir up any trouble.

But these people didn’t even realise that he was a witcher. Most likely helped by the fact Geralt only wore his armour while they were on the road. And most people didn’t put any meaning to his medallion, or his hair, or his eyes.

It was strange how easily they could pass through a place when so many saw them as a pair, and usually connected the dots.

Over the years, many people had recognised Jaskier and asked him where ‘his witcher’ was. He always replied that they hadn’t been travelling at that time. But small villages and towns on the coast were blissfully unaware of who they were.

Jaskier looked towards Geralt, at one point in the evening, noting the gold of his eyes. He was perhaps a little – a lot – drunk, but sometimes, he longed to just sit and look at Geralt, at his eyes, his soft hair.

“Why do you stare at me like that?” Geralt asked, so quiet only they could hear. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes darted up and down, hardly focusing on Jaskier’s eyes.

“Stare at you like what?”

“Like I’m to be treasured.”

 _Oh_ , how badly he wanted to reach out and trace Geralt’s jaw with his fingertips, to stroke his cheekbones with his thumbs. He was weak, too weak, and he didn’t know how he kept himself from doing it while this drunk.

But his tongue was loose, as were his thoughts. “That’s because you are.”

Geralt’s gaze slunk downwards, then back up to his eyes. He wet his lips, placing his ale down. Jaskier stared, not quite sure what to think. Was...?

“It’s getting late,” a sudden voice said, the woman from before.

Geralt looked up at her, and Jaskier swore he saw a scowl.

He was probably seeing things.

“Do you want a room?”

Jaskier rolled his shoulders, feeling a little achy from lying back at an awkward angle. “If there are any rooms left.”

“There is.” She lifted her chin. “I’m the barkeep, well, co-barkeep. We have room, a good sized double bed. Perfect for you both.” She grinned, stepping back. “Find me in the tavern if you want it.” She swiftly left, her skirts blowing in the slight wind.

Jaskier threw his head back, chuckling away. “Why do we always get the double bed room?”

Geralt stood, brushing himself down. He picked up their bags and slung them on his shoulders. “Come on, we might as well get a room for the night.” He offered his hand and Jaskier took it, gratefully being hauled up.

“Second room of the trip, we are _splurging_.”

Geralt shrugged. “You did say to go with the flow.”

“And that woman has directed our flow to a room?”

“Exactly.”

Jaskier chuckled and nodded, heading off the field and back onto the road through the village. The tavern was easy to find, as the band had moved there an hour ago, once the deer had been eaten. Most people had still stayed by the bonfire, but it had started to burn down now.

Once they got into the tavern, the band gave Jaskier a little wave, and others raised their glasses towards him. He grinned and made his way over to the bar with Geralt in tow.

“Some people gave me coins due to your performance,” the woman said appearing in front of them, behind the bar. “I can put them towards your room, if you’d like?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

She smiled, counting up the coins she had to hand. “Some of them don’t get to hear those jigs with a lute playing often, or at all. You impressed them, and the band. You’re a master of your craft.”

He couldn’t help the blush that rose on his cheeks. “Well, thank you, but you’re too kind.”

Geralt furrowed his brow at him. “Not like you to be humble.”

The woman laughed, slapping her hand on the bar top. “Now, now, is that any way to talk to your partner here?”

 _Ah_.

Geralt hummed, glancing towards Jaskier. “He knows he’s not.”

Jaskier folded his arms, mockingly huffing. He pointed a finger towards Geralt. “And he knows when he’s being rude as anything.”

The woman laughed again. “Like an old married couple, ay?” She glanced down at the coins. “These will cover the room completely.”

Jaskier gave a nod. “Good then. The people have been rather generous.”

“Our rooms tend to be cheap. Not many travellers come through here.” She grinned, miming a grabbing gesture. “So we try to nab them with our prices!”

“Hm,” Geralt murmured. “That’s a good business tactic.”

“Don’t we know it!” She nodded to the stairs around the corner. “It’s the first room on the right.”

They didn’t buy any drinks, already drunk enough, so they headed straight for their room. Taking the narrow tucked away stairs, and easily finding their room. It was quite a modest size, but only had one small table next to the bed and a fireplace in it.

“You know, I _am_ humble. It’s in my most famous song.”

Geralt huffed a laugh, placing their bags down in the corner. “The very last thing you are, Jaskier, is humble.”

“ _Well_ , with that attitude I’m surely not.” Jaskier made his way over to the window, spotting the bonfire still burning in the distance. He carefully placed his lute down by his feet. “But I can be, when I want to be.”

Geralt hummed, and suddenly, the bed dipped behind him. “She thought we were together.”

Jaskier turned and rested back against the window. He noticed that Geralt was laying upon the bed instead of sitting, and he was still wearing his soft shirt, but all of the buttons at the top were undone. It almost slid from his shoulders because of that. The skin it showed... He was beautiful, as always, as he always would be.

“We probably look and act like one to them. Most couples in villages do bicker with each other, travel together, stay close to the other’s side...”

“No one has ever thought that before.”

“Hm, maybe we’re truly that different with each other now, that people could mistake us for being partners.”

Geralt stared into space for a long moment. He settled his hands on his stomach. “But do we... act like we’re married?”

“I suppose, since we’re not together, that’s not for us to work out. They see something that doesn’t exist. How are we supposed to make sense of that?” Jaskier stripped his doublet off and untucked his chemise, sitting back on the bed. “We know what’s real.”

And yet... for Jaskier, it was too often not quite enough. Not with how intensely the bond made him feel his love. Truly, if friendship was all he could gain from Geralt, it had to be enough. Because he was his friend, his best friend. At least he didn’t sound horrified or disgusted at the mistake.

Geralt looked at him strangely. “Yeah, we do.” He manoeuvred himself under the covers and Jaskier followed suit. “I hope we experience more days like this one...”

Jaskier shifted closer to him. “Where everything feels like it’s normal? Like we’re both from a tiny village and life is simple, where the people are kind, almost like they should know us?”

Geralt widened his eyes slightly, nodding. “Yes...”

“It’s nice... but it’s not who we are or what our lives hold for us.”

“No, but pretending isn’t bad.”

“No, it’s not.”

Geralt reached out, his hand shaking slightly. He tucked a stray hair behind Jaskier’s ear, letting his hand linger there. Jaskier didn’t dare breathe. “You’re wise, little lark... but this time, I think you’re wrong.” He retracted his hand, curling it into a fist as he rested it by his side.

“Wrong about what part?” he said, a tad too shaky. That gesture… it had _done things_ to his mind.

“That it isn’t what our lives hold for us. I think destiny is fond of people settling down, eventually.”

Jaskier furrowed his brow. He looked towards the curled up fist, Geralt’s murky eyes swirling with emotion, the tenseness of his muscles. “You mean me... not you.”

Geralt stayed quiet, thinning his lips.

“I’m unmarried at almost fifty. Settling down, in the traditional sense, is long over.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t find a wife. You could sire a child with a younger bride.”

Jaskier shook his head, wishing he could scream about what destiny _really_ wanted. “No, that’s no life for me.”

“You can’t travel with me forever. Not when you’re old, not when your bones grow weak.” Despite his voice sounding neutral, there was a glassiness to Geralt’s eyes.

“Watch me,” he said with a stony determination. There was no way in hell Geralt could ever stop him. Piotr was travelling and he was in his _seventies_. Although, he wasn’t following a monster hunter.

“Jaskier...”

“No, Geralt. I was born to travel the Continent, and I’ve chosen to do it with you.” He placed a hand midway between them. Geralt’s fist uncurled and he placed his hand over Jaskier’s. “Don’t ever suggest I could leave and settle down.”

Geralt squeezed his hand. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is. It always will be.”

“Okay...” He pulled his hand away, tucking it under the covers. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Jaskier smiled. “Then hold me to it.”

A silence passed over them, and that was the last thing that was said before they both fell asleep. Jaskier awoke to find himself curled around Geralt, his arm wrapped around his stomach tightly. It was warm, and felt safe, and he wished he could stay there forever.

\--

They had set up camp in a small woodland that was near to the beach and sea. Having spent much of the day relaxing on the beach, the third time doing so on their trip. It had been lovely, and they’d even ridden up and down a few times, racing each other. Roach won a couple times, Daisy won three. Now, they were relaxing in camp, keeping themselves warm with a hearty fire.

Geralt had caught two rabbits, which they had eaten happily, giving Daisy and Roach some apples and carrots. The night was quickly setting in, and Jaskier was almost ready for sleep. Even the most relaxing days could bring on tiredness like no other.

“Do you think we’ll find another village tomorrow?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt twisted his mouth, glancing around him. “I’d say we’re not too far from Maecht now.”

“Not a bad city.”

“No, but we’re starting to get close to the heart of the Nilfgaardian Empire.”

Jaskier waved dismissively. “We’re still a way off yet. Besides, we can head back up north once we’re too south.”

“Hmm.”

Their conversation was swiftly interrupted as Roach whinnied, scraping her hooves. Daisy was suddenly pulling on her rope, trying to back away, hooves frantically moving and pushing. They both seemed very distressed, and panic rose in Jaskier. This wasn’t good, in fact, it was very, very bad.

An inhuman screech boomed in the distance.

Geralt stood, dashing to his bag. He pulled his armour out of it and Jaskier rushed to his side, helping him put it on. As he went looking for his potions, Jaskier brought his swords to him. The horses being distressed and that screech only meant one thing. A monster was near. The horses could sense things early on that humans just couldn’t, and Geralt had been caught off guard. It’s what this trip had done to him.

Geralt slid one sword into his sheath at his back while he held the other. “Take Roach and Daisy and go, Jaskier.”

He gritted his teeth. “Fuck no. I’m not leaving you.”

Geralt glared at him. “Don’t be stubborn. I have no idea what this could be.”

“Geralt. No. What if you got hurt, huh?”

“You know how this works.”

He wasn’t letting this go easily. Where would he run to? “And you know that I refuse to leave your side when the unknown faces us down.”

Geralt sighed, hanging his head. “Fine. Stay here, keep the fire lit.”

Jaskier gave a curt nod. “I will. Be careful.”

“I will.”

Then he disappeared into the trees. Jaskier untied the horses and guided them over to the fire. He sat down, holding their reins. If he had to run, he would, but not until the situation was critical. He would never forgive himself if he ran now. The fear of Geralt not making it out of a fight always terrified him.

The screech came again, and so did a clash of metal. The battle was close then... much closer than the horses liked. Both Roach and Daisy tried to pull away, as if they were trying to pull him away too. He stuck to his ground, but the noises came closer, the sound of footsteps and a... creature’s steps edged towards the camp.

Both Daisy and Roach pulled themselves free, galloping away. Jaskier stood still as a crashing came through the trees, and a monster he didn’t recognise was standing before him. Geralt followed quickly, stabbing it in its side, but it lunged forward, swiping at Jaskier. He jumped away, running to the edge of the camp, but no further.

He realised Geralt was leaning to one side. His leg had been slashed, his shoulder had been bitten. So, the creature was fast and able to catch him in moments of vulnerability.

Inky eyes landed on Jaskier, and Geralt growled, thrusting his sword straight into the beast. Regardless of the hit, it tore itself from the sword’s grasp, going after Jaskier... the weak one in the situation. Of course. But Geralt reached it first, lodging his sword into its neck.

It didn’t much like that, thrashing wildly. Enough so that it stumbled forward, head smacking into Jaskier’s side as it continued to thrash. He went flying off his feet, landing with a thud on the ground, rolling a few times, stopped by a tree. Pain bloomed in his leg, and he yelled out, looking down to see a stick had lodged itself in his leg. Fuck.

“ _Shit_ …!” he said with feeling. He felt for his necklace, and he was glad to find that his pendant was still intact.

Despite his own pain, he focused on Geralt. Watching as he withdrew his sword from its neck, staggering back. The beast lunged for him, slashing him with its claws. Right… in the stomach. _Fuck_. Still, he kept on going, perhaps out of a weak determination not to get himself killed. He managed to claw at the creature’s fur (it looked like fur at least), and pulled on it, launching himself up on its back. It tried thrashing, but he stayed balanced, and brought his blade down on its neck.

Its head bounced off the ground, its body following suit a second after. Geralt jumped off, rolling along the ground, as Jaskier had, minutes ago.

Jaskier crawled over, wincing as the stick moved in his leg. But he knew, from all his time at Oxenfurt, that pulling it out would be the worst, and possibly last, decision he could make. He peered at Geralt’s wounds, pouring with blood. It pooled behind him, upon his stomach, out of his leg. Fuck… fuck. It was too much. Too much bleeding.

“Geralt,” he said, firm.

Geralt groaned, whimpering in pain. He couldn’t imagine how much it must have hurt.

“Which potion would help you?” He shook his good shoulder when no reply came. His eyes were shut tight. “Please, Geralt… You’re losing a lot of blood.”

A groan passed Geralt’s lips, his eyes fluttered but stayed shut. His lips made no movement to make much noise. Oh gods. Oh shit, oh gods. They hadn’t been prepared. They… Was…

Jaskier closed his eyes. Fucking regret and guilt could come later. For now, he scrambled for Geralt’s bag and sorted through his potions. He knew the one with the very blue hue had healing effects to it, and since Geralt was not forthcoming with an answer, it would have to do.

He crawled back over to him, hands frantic, eyes welling with tears. He would be _okay_ , he knew that. Geralt was a witcher, wounds healed faster anyway. But the extent of the damage seemed too great, and it certainly didn’t help that he had a stick stuck in his leg. Pulling the bong from the vial, he shifted closer to his head, resting it upon his lap as he tipped the potion between Geralt’s lips, and was glad to see him swallowing.

“I hope this helps… Gods… How am I–” He glanced all around, wondering where Roach and Daisy had gone. Probably down to the beach if he had to guess.

Jaskier held Geralt carefully, checking over him... Shit. He needed to get them to the village they had passed through the previous day. They hadn’t stayed, the village didn’t have an inn or any rooms at the tavern. But they did have a healer, and it was possibly their only chance of at least getting Geralt stabilised.

He slung their bags onto his shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut as the extra weight only put more pressure on his leg.

He pulled Geralt up, wincing as his injured leg whined in pain, and frowning as Geralt whimpered, still refusing to open his eyes. He slung his arm over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around his waist, and struggled down to the beach. It was the only direction Daisy and Roach could have run in.

Luckily, he was right. As he dragged his own leg along, the blood dripping from it, he struggled to heave and hold Geralt. By some grace of the gods, he managed it, but barely.

Daisy approached slowly, neighing, whinnying. Roach, meanwhile, came up to Jaskier, snorting in what sounded like sympathy. She knelt down, and Jaskier had never been gladder that she had been trained so well. He panted, trying to gain enough breath to lower Geralt onto Roach without hurting him. He hobbled the rest of the way over, carefully slipping Geralt from his shoulder, and setting him down on Roach’s back.

Roach stood back up, and Jaskier took her reins into his hand. Daisy came up beside him and he took her reins too. There was nothing more he could do but walk them. He could hardly leave Daisy, and he worried if he rode one and secured Geralt against his chest, the other might not stick at their side.

They may have been well trained, but they were still horses. He couldn’t exactly tell them what was going on. Still, it was possible riding one of them could hurt his leg more so.

So they walked.

\--

He was a fool, a rotten fool. His leg was screaming in pain. And oh gods, the _blood_. It hurt, so much. There wasn’t much more energy to him, but he had to keep going, for Geralt, for the fact he hadn’t regained consciousness since he’d killed the beast. Whatever that thing had been.

Roach butted his chest as his leg nearly gave way. He frowned and sighed. Fuck... she was right. He looked towards Daisy.

“Hey, girl, if I ride Roach, will you follow?”

She neighed.

He took that as a yes.

He tried to struggle onto Roach’s back, but she took pity on him, kneeling again. That allowed him to position him and Geralt safely on her back. He pulled Geralt against his chest and kept his feet steady on the stirrups, despite his leg stretching weirdly with the wound. It didn’t make anything better.

Daisy did manage to keep up though, which did help with his worries quite a bit. Roach didn’t quite gallop, and he certainly wasn’t going to force her to. But she was going at a higher speed than a trot. He was surprised he managed to keep himself atop her, never mind Geralt.

He was safely resting against his chest, and Jaskier kept a firm arm around him. He was still whimpering and groaning, but didn’t open his eyes, as if he was unable to. Jaskier had no doubt the pain was intense enough for him to make noises in his sleeping state.

He just hoped the healer could do something once they got to the village.

And he wasn’t stopping. Not for anyone. Not for any _thing_.

\--

“Can I get some help here!” Jaskier shouted as he pulled Roach to a stop. Daisy stopped beside them as well, scraping her hooves off the ground, neighing loudly.

Jaskier slipped off Roach, yelling out as he put too much weight on his leg. He tried to manoeuvre Geralt off, when a whole bunch of people came out of nowhere, just to help him. Once Geralt was down, Jaskier protectively pulled him to his side, slinging his arm back over his shoulder.

“Where is your healer?” Jaskier asked the people quickly.

The crowd around him split as an older woman paced towards them. Her hair was grey, and she was using a stick to get around.

“Come with me. Now.” She looked towards the man in the crowd with the biggest muscles. “Help him if he slips, or if that poor leg gives way.”

The man gave a nod. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned to the others. “Get their horses safe.”

A chorus of ‘yes’ followed.

His leg didn’t give way, nor did he slip, but the man stayed nearby regardless. The woman led them to a relatively large house. Inside, the main room was covered in plants, herbs and the like. She led them to one room, with a bed, fresh clothes, a bowl of water, and clean cloths. As if she was always waiting for the injured to come through here.

“Put him on the bed,” she said, and turned to the man. “Go get Edric. I’ll be needing his assistance today.”

The man curtly nodded. “Of course.”

Jaskier gently got Geralt on the bed, laying him flatly. He smoothed a hand down his arm, squeezing his eyes shut. What if... this time...? It nearly choked him, his feelings, his worry. He rounded the bed, dropping the bags beside it, and crawled onto it, mindful of his leg, just to sit beside him.

When the woman turned from where she had been sorting herbs on the table opposite, she frowned. “Oh, you poor thing...”

Jaskier furrowed his brow.

“You care for him a great deal.” She pointed to the armchair beside the bed. “I’ll need you on that, so I can get that stick out.”

He shook his head. “Help Geralt first, then me.”

She sighed, grabbing a cloth. “At least let me wrap this around the wound? It’ll help with your blood loss.” She walked over, muttering. “How are you still awake?”

Jaskier only furrowed his brow more so, scooting to the edge of the bed so the healer could access him better. “What do you mean?”

She wrapped the cloth tightly around the stick, creating a sort of ring around it. Once secured, she patted his good leg, mirroring where the wound was on his other. “See, a lot of blood can come from wounds when they’re here. You left this village the other day, galloping on your horses. You must have gotten far, only to come back here. Hours’ worth of blood loss, and you’re still very much conscious. With a wound dripping like yours, and with the blood soaked into your trousers, I would have expected you to be moments from death.”

“Oh...”

“You got lucky, or you’re not human, bard.” She glanced to Geralt. “Him, I understand. I see now, he’s a witcher. I didn’t see the medallion last you were here. But you...” She shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m human. Very human.”

She twisted her lips. “Well, you are young, I suppose it’s not _impossible_ to heal fast. Or the stick has stopped a lot of the possible blood loss. Perhaps adrenaline helped you to make it here, but you should have crashed by now.”

He felt a cold shiver run down his spine. “I... I’m not young.”

She furrowed her brow. “You’re no more than twenty.... Surely.”

“I’m forty-seven.”

“You–”

Jaskier scowled, gritting his teeth. “Enough about me or my injury, I don’t need help.” He nodded to Geralt. “He does.”

The healer frowned again, deeper this time. But she accepted it and left him. She grabbed the water, setting it down on the bedside table, and grabbed all of the cloths. She, with Jaskier’s help, removed Geralt’s armour, his shirt, his trousers. Leaving him only in his undergarment, his chest bare. She dabbed at the wounds, cleaning them of their blood, both fresh and dry. She also washed the blood from his hair, leaving him practically spotless.

Briefly, she left, coming back with a pestle and mortar, dumping herbs into it. She crushed them down, making them into a paste. Adding a little water, and a little bit of a blue potion. He suspected it may have been the same as one of Geralt’s.

She spread the paste on each of his wounds. On the gash in his leg. On the bitten part of his shoulder (that hadn’t been as bad as Jaskier first thought, but it wasn’t exactly not horrific either). And on the slashes upon his stomach.

A young man came crashing into the room, Edric, Jaskier presumed.

“Edric,” the healer said. “Help me bandage him up.”

Edric did so, and soon, all of Geralt’s wounds were tightly wrapped up. He was still painfully asleep. But some of his whimpers had stopped since the paste had been applied. They tucked him under the covers, bringing them right up to his neck.

The healer stood up straight. “Edric, I need you to help the bard while I go and contact Kovit.”

Edric nodded and approached Jaskier. “Please sit on the armchair. Last thing Sunniva will want is for a job to be done badly. Which it will be if you stay there.”

Jaskier nodded, glancing to Geralt. He brushed his fingers through the tips of his hair, sighing. He moved off the bed and onto the armchair. Edric gathered many cloths and bandages. He also grabbed the leftover paste, but seemed to lessen its dosage by adding more water.

Edric’s hands hovered by the stick. “This is going to hurt more than anything has in your entire life. Don’t get scared when the blood spurts.”

Jaskier nodded and closed his eyes. The stick began to move, and suddenly he was yelling, and cloths were pressed to his leg. There was a mumbled fuck, and he could feel the blood, warm and thick, running down his leg, soaking into his already destroyed red-stained trousers. He opened his eyes, seeing the state of it. The cloths had already gone red with the blood. So... the stick _had_ been keeping much of it at bay.

Edric pulled some of them away, and the blood trickled from his wound.

“Fuck.” He replaced the blood soaked cloths with new ones, pushing down on his leg to keep the pressure on. “How have you still got all of this blood to lose?”

“Has the stick been keeping this from happening?” Because he knew it had, his training always said, get a healer to pull a knife, stick, or arrow out. Because they would be more equipped to keep you alive, rather than dying from blood loss.

“Seems so.” Edric pulled the cloths away, and the bleeding had lessened. Only by a little. Edric dabbed the paste on, pressing it tight against his leg, before frantically bandaging him up. “If it bleeds through and soaks the entire bandage, I’ll redo it.”

“Thank you.”

Edric nodded to him. “It’s alright. I’m surprised you even made it out alive... I assume it was a creature.”

“It was.”

“Lucky then.” He stood. “You can sit back on the bed, if you’d like. I’m sure your friend would appreciate you being at his side.”

Jaskier smiled slightly and stood. He still couldn’t put much pressure on his leg, and he was starting to feel weaker (probably because of the blood he’d just lost and all the adrenaline leaving his body). He carefully climbed onto the bed and shifted to Geralt’s side, lying down, staring at him. He was still breathing, a little less painfully than on their journey...

He was safely under the covers, but Jaskier couldn’t help but think they had come very close to the end. It felt like his soul had shrunk down, like it was pulling at itself, ripping with the pain of seeing his matching soul unconscious, injured beyond belief.

He placed a tentative hand upon Geralt’s chest, staying far from his injuries. “It hurts, seeing you like this...” He closed his eyes. “Wake up soon.”

Sunniva returned, after a while, carrying a plate in her hand. “Bard, I have some food for you.”

He rubbed his eyes, sitting up. He hadn’t fallen asleep, but he had become rather tired after staring at the wall and Geralt’s restful face. “Thank you.”

She handed him the plate. It was some bread and cheese. Not too bad. It would help his body gain some energy at least. “I contacted Kovit, a mage. He’ll be here in a few hours. Just to check your witcher over.”

Jaskier nodded. “Thank you. How much will you be needing for your help?”

Sunniva waved him off. “Nothing. I wish to see people regain their health. That is reward enough. Besides, the village mayor pays for me to stay here.”

“Well... thank you.”

“It is of no bother, bard.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Now, tell me, what happened?”

Jaskier took a bite of his bread, chewing slowly to mull it over. The details had become a bit fuzzy. “A creature screeched in the woods, and Geralt protected me and the horses. It crashed into our camp and Geralt was already injured at his leg and shoulder. It went after me, and he tried to stop it, but it knocked me away, and that’s how my leg got injured. Then it slashed Geralt before he killed it.”

Sunniva hummed, nodding with understanding. “You were very lucky to get out of that alive.”

“I’m aware,” he said bluntly, chewing on more of his bread and cheese. Recalling what had happened struck something within him, like he was remembering how they could have died.

Somehow, though, they were both still breathing.

“I’ll let you get some rest.” She stood and walked to the door. “I’ll wake you when Kovit comes.”

Jaskier nodded and she left. He finished off his bread and cheese with a frown. Why, when they were on a trip, did this have to happen to them? Fair enough someone asking for their help, but this was different. They had been out in the open, enjoying the end of their day, and then that fateful attack happened.

He lay back down and curled against Geralt’s side, closing his eyes. Maybe, when he woke next, Geralt would be okay.

\--

“This is the patient?” an unfamiliar voice said.

Jaskier opened his eyes to see what he presumed to be the mage, decked out in armour, colourful but muted at that.

Sunniva nodded. “Yes, Kovit. Geralt of Rivia...”

Kovit walked over to his side, pressing his palms against Geralt’s injuries, one by one. Each time, he closed his eyes, breathed deep, and... nodded to himself. “Yes, they are severe, but he’s had multiple doses of a healing potion. His injuries are already beginning to knit back together.”

Jaskier sat up and pressed himself against the headboard. “He’ll be okay?”

“You’re his friend, yes? The famous Jaskier?”

“I am.”

“He’ll be just fine. He may even wake tomorrow, and if Sunniva’s paste is reapplied then, he will be fully healed within two days.” He turned to Sunniva. “Do you need more of the potion?”

“My stocks are running low.”

He smiled and nodded. “You do love saving people.”

“I do.”

Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s reassuring. I was sure it would be worse.”

“I’ll perform a spell on him, just to let his slumber heal him a little more, but I think his own biology will do the rest.”

Jaskier had never been happier for a mage to do some healing. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Kovit smiled at him and got to work. Soon enough, Geralt’s breathing had evened out completely, and it sounded as if he was simply sleeping peacefully. Jaskier thanked him, and Kovit was on his way out in an instant. Jaskier was glad for the help, bringing Geralt here had been the best decision he’d ever made.

“Now, now, Jaskier, please do get some rest.” Sunniva placed a hand at her hip. “I can see the worry still brewing in your eyes. He’ll be fine.”

He nodded, pushing himself back down the bed. “I know he will... Doesn’t mean I can’t feel sad over what is happening.”

“Fair enough. Rest well.” She left then, the door closing with a click. Silence fell over the room.

Jaskier reached out, brushing his fingers into Geralt’s hair, stroking. “We’re not telling Yennefer about this, okay?” He massaged his scalp, running his fingers through the strands. “She’d have our heads for not getting word to her.”

Geralt stayed silent, as he had done since he rolled off that beast. At least he was still breathing. Still alive.

He closed his eyes and couldn’t do anything but let sleep take him, so his body could heal in its own slumber.

\--

“You’re injured...” Geralt whispered, his hands gliding over Jaskier’s bandage.

Jaskier snapped his eyes open. Wait. _Geralt_. He... When his eyes focused, a very awake Geralt was on his side, fingers continually brushing lightly over Jaskier’s wound. Daylight streamed through the windows, morning was very clearly present. “You’re injured more.”

“Hm. It’s already healing, should be a marred and angry scar by tomorrow”

He let out a small breath, feeling overly relieved. “Thank the gods.” He brushed his fingertips against Geralt’s cheek. “I worried I wouldn’t get you to a healer in time.”

Geralt’s brow slightly furrowed. “I remember you giving me a potion. Vaguely, but I remember. That helped more than you can know.”

“I’m just glad I didn’t kill you with it.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. His fingers stopped on his leg, only for him to rest his hand just below the wound. “I trust you.”

Jaskier was surprised he could take a breath after that confession. “That’s fairly foolish.”

“No. It’s not.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to reply with something witty or sarcastic but... “Right...”

Geralt retracted his hand, moving from his side to his back with a wince. “Don’t worry about the trip either. I know of a town, south from where our camp was. We can get my armour repaired while we relax on the beach.”

“I think it’ll need replacing, but okay. It sounds nice. We have spare clothes for now, at least.” He glanced over at the bags in the corner. “I brought all our things.”

Geralt peered at him. “You... That was a lot of pressure to put on yourself with a leg wound.”

“I was fine, you weren’t, and I couldn’t leave our things. Roach and Daisy helped.”

“Hm.” Geralt stared up at the ceiling. “Where are we?”

“A healers house, at the last village we passed through. It’s all free of charge. We were very lucky, according to her, and the mage who helped.”

“Fuck... Jaskier, we were miles away.”

Jaskier shrugged. “As I said, I was fine. The stick prevented much blood loss.”

“Lucky then.”

“Very, both of us.”

Sunniva came into the room, holding another plate of bread. She lit up at the sight of Geralt being awake. “Oh, this is wonderful! I thought you wouldn’t wake till the evening.”

Geralt sat up slightly, grimacing. The pain was still there. “Most underestimate a witcher’s biology.”

“Seems so,” she confirmed. She placed the plate of bread and cheese on the bed, between them. “I don’t have much food, but this is what I have spare. Please, eat. You both need your strength to heal.”

Jaskier split the large slab of bread in half, stuffing some cheese into either half. He handed one half to Geralt and took a bite of the other. “Thank you,” he said once he’d swallowed his bite.

“You’ve been saying that phrase a lot, bard.”

“You saved me, and him, and brought us food, and let us rest here. That is a lot to thank.”

Sunniva waved dismissively. “It’s my duty.”

Geralt gave her the tiniest smile. “I appreciate your help. You didn’t have to put up a witcher.”

“I would not let you die, nor would I let anyone die, if they could be saved.” She smiled sorrowfully. “When you are ready, you can leave, but I would suggest spending another night here. Just to ensure the safe healing of your wounds.”

“We’ll take that advice on board,” Geralt said, his small smile still present.

“Good. I’ll bring you dinner when its time. Rest up, and no getting out of bed please, not without my help. That goes for both of you.”

“Right,” Jaskier said. “We won’t.”

She smiled and left the room.

They ate in silence, and once they were done, Jaskier placed the plate on the table beside the bed. He moved close to Geralt, pulling back the covers to reveal all the wounds. At some point, when they were both asleep, Sunniva must have found some clothes for Geralt, as he was now in soft trousers. But his chest was still bare.

Just like Geralt had done with his injuries, Jaskier skittered his hands over the wounds at his stomach. Frowning at the bandages. It must have been a feral beast to have sliced through Geralt’s armour like paper. To gouge into his skin. To bite his shoulder. To injure his leg. Jaskier traced around his shoulder, mindful not to apply any pressure.

“Gods, Geralt.” Jaskier flattened his hand against his chest, looking up into his eyes. “What was it?”

“Something I haven’t seen before. It looked like a mutation, half griffin and half wolf, if I had to guess. A mage’s creation, no doubt.”

Jaskier scowled, staring down at the bandages. “Mages... Don’t know how to stop abusing their power.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier moved his hand along to his shoulder, fingertips resting on the edge of the bandage. “I thought, on our way here, that you wouldn’t make it.”

Geralt covered Jaskier’s hand with his own. “I made it, Jask. I’m here.”

Jaskier smiled, sadly. He looked into those golden eyes, sorrowfulness swam in them. He wished he could cup Geralt’s face and kiss him softly, kiss him until he was healed and okay. “I... never wanna lose you. Couldn’t bear to.”

Geralt leant forward, pressing his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Not going anywhere. You won’t lose me.”

Jaskier closed his eyes. They both knew they couldn’t control that. Geralt was at risk every time he stepped towards a monster. That was how his life worked. “Promise me. I know you can’t but... please.”

“As long as you promise not to get yourself recklessly killed.” Geralt grasped Jaskier’s arm. “Please.”

“I...”

“I know you can’t too, that you’ll do reckless things to ensure my safety but...”

“I promise,” Jaskier said, knowing it wasn’t the full truth. Because they didn’t know what would come for them. He opened his eyes. They were so near... He had never seen Geralt’s eyes so close before...

Geralt smiled ever so slightly. “Then I promise too.”

“It’s a lie,” he whispered.

“It’s hope.”

Jaskier let out a wet puff of air, pulling back. “Just... It nearly killed me, seeing you so... injured and hurt.”

Geralt brushed a hand across Jaskier’s cheek. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“I know this isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. Yet, this was different, because we were both injured, and you were worse than you’ve ever been.”

Geralt winced, pulling back further. “Speak of–” He stared down at his stomach wounds, touching them lightly. “Think I twisted them a little.”

Jaskier pushed at his chest. “Lie back, come on, we need rest anyway.” Geralt went down easily under his touch. He pulled the covers back over him, and got under them himself.

“How is your leg?” Geralt asked, more of a tired whisper.

“Hurts, but okay. I might be a little weak from blood loss.”

“Hmm... Shouldn’t have risked yourself.”

“Had to, for you,” Jaskier murmured, quietly, staring at Geralt.

No answer came, however, as Geralt had dozed off. Jaskier decided that was a fantastic idea and followed suit.


	6. Time For A Bath

Jaskier found himself tangled around Geralt when he woke the next morning. His leg felt better, a little less like a throbbing mess, and more of a dull ache. Whatever was in that paste worked wonders. Said leg was wrapped around one of Geralt’s, and his head was pressed up against his back. His arm rested on his hip and his hand was curled towards his stomach.

Jaskier didn’t know why he kept waking up like this. They had always managed to keep to their own sides way back when, before the mountain. But on this trip... At the first tavern, Geralt had been curled around him. Second tavern, he’d been curled around Geralt. And now, instead of curled, they were entirely tangled. He could easily apply it to a metaphor, that it was their bond trying to weave them together, after so many years apart.

Geralt groaned and shifted. There was a moment of silence, until, “Jaskier... why are we tangled?”

“Uh, maybe we got cold?” He untangled himself from Geralt’s legs.

Geralt rolled onto his back, blinking at him. He opened his mouth, staring intently, but closed it again. “Maybe.”

Jaskier decided not to wonder what he could have said. Luckily, they were saved by Sunniva, as she came into the room with a grin plastered on her face. Fresh bandages sat in her arms, which she set on the table beside their bed.

“Thought I heard you awake,” she said. “I need you both to strip down so I can change your bandages. Do you have spare clothes?”

“Yes,” Jaskier answered.

“Alright, good, I like retaining my stocks.” She placed a hand at her hip. “Once I’ve changed your bandages, I’ll leave you to get dressed. I presume you’re leaving today.”

“We will be,” Geralt said.

“Right. I’m making porridge for you, before you leave.” Her eyes hardened. “Now, up. Those bandages aren’t going to change themselves.”

Sunniva made quick work of getting their bandages changed, and Jaskier wasn’t surprised. She had clearly been a healer her whole life, bandaging a wound must have been muscle memory. Easy for her. She left them to get dressed, and Jaskier pulled the spare clothes from their bags. Handing Geralt’s to him, and putting on his own. His deep red and blue get up, with his light grey chemise. Geralt, of course, wore his usual black garments.

Once they left the room, Sunniva practically shoved the porridge in their faces. They gladly took it and ate up. It was good, to be treated well, allowed to heal and recover. Sunniva knew how to look after her patients, that much could be said.

“Where will you be heading?” she asked, sitting down to eat with them.

Geralt swallowed a spoonful of his porridge. “A town near here, to repair my armour.”

She hummed. “Good. Your injuries would have been far worse without it. You’re very lucky to be sitting with us, Witcher.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier smiled slightly. “He means he knows that.”

Sunniva chuckled to herself. “Your relationship is to be admired. Jaskier was willing to go to the ends of the Continent for you, Geralt. I’ve seen many married couples in my years, but none like you.”

“Oh, we’re not...” Jaskier began to say, feeling it cut at him, “we’re not together.”

Sunniva’s brow furrowed. “You aren’t?” They both nodded. She spooned some porridge into her mouth, swallowing quickly. “Well, you should be.”

Geralt glanced away and Jaskier felt his heart constrict and beat weirdly. The implication… That people saw the very thing Jaskier wanted.

“People tend to say that,” Jaskier said, poking at his porridge. “But our relationship is very much friendly.”

Geralt hummed along.

“Whatever you say, dears.” She had this glint in her eye, as if she didn’t believe them.

Silence fell over the table, and no more was said while they ate. Once Sunniva had cleared away the dishes, Jaskier picked up their bags, holding them in his hands while his lute was slung over his shoulder. He didn’t allow Geralt to carry anything, despite his vast protests. He was too worried about his shoulder to let him put weight on the other.

“Safe travels,” Sunniva said, standing at the door. “If I ever see either of you again, it’ll be too soon.”

“No offense, but I’m not planning to,” Jaskier said, and Sunniva beamed.

They gave her a little wave before heading off to the stable, where the people of the village had safely put Daisy and Roach. They were lucky that the people had been so welcoming, so ready to help. If they hadn’t been, they would have been worse off, may have even died, or Jaskier would have had to travel further.

As soon as Geralt walked into Roach’s stall, she butted his chest, sniffing at his hair. He laughed and stroked her, assuring her multiple times that he was okay, not that she believed him much.

Daisy was much the same, but she was highly concerned about Geralt too. She sniffed and neighed and butted into Jaskier, trying to get him closer to Geralt, if he were to guess.

They calmed the horses with the apples the stablehands had left out, and soon had their bags strapped to them. Jaskier led Daisy out of her stall and onto the village road. Geralt did the same with Roach.

“To the town?” Jaskier asked, stroking Daisy, still trying to calm her.

Geralt glanced up to the sky, then back to Jaskier. “To the town.” He climbed atop Roach, not even wincing.

Jaskier did wince a bit as he hopped up onto Daisy. But then, he wasn’t a witcher with enhanced healing abilities. They left the village behind, and Jaskier had a feeling he’d think about it for a long time. Sunniva had made a bit of an impact, and he hoped for nothing more than a safe and wonderful life for her.

She’d saved them with her swiftness, and he would eternally thank her for it.

Now, Jaskier looked forward, excited but apprehensive to see what their trip would bring them next.

\--

“Aye, ‘fraid your bard is right, Witcher,” the armourer said. “There’s no saving this piece without making it weaker than ya’d like.”

Geralt grunted, looking around the armourer’s shop. “What’s the best thing you have?”

The armourer raised his finger. “ _Ah_.” He disappeared into the back of the shop, making both Jaskier and Geralt more than a little confused.

Soon, he reappeared with a piece very similar to Geralt’s last one. Very black, leather everywhere, a strong material covering the chest and stomach. Even stronger material at the back. Jaskier raised his eyebrows, Geralt would look _good_ in that.

“You see,” the armourer said, setting the piece down, “I was inspired by the songs about you, and I thought to meself, why not use that inspiration to create a piece for you? Worthy of your heroics.” He smiled down at it. “Never thought ya might be here to buy it.”

“You made that,” Jaskier began, stepping closer, “in the hope that one day you would meet Geralt?”

“Exactly! All because of ya songs, bard.”

Geralt approached and peered down at the armour. He took it into his hands, feeling up the main part, around the sides, up the back. He hummed, placing it back down. “Would it fit?”

The armourer hesitantly smiled. “I hope so.”

Geralt gave a curt nod, dropping his bag from his shoulder, pulling the piece on. Jaskier helped get it into position and smiled as it fit, quite perfectly actually. He furrowed his brow at it. The armourer had good taste, and had clearly taken inspiration from a couple of his songs. It was… flawless. Geralt tugged on it, stretching his arms back and forth.

“Does it need brought in anywhere?” the armourer asked, voice a little quiet. Like a student watching their teacher judge work they were proud of.

“No. It’s– fine?” Geralt looked up, head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed. “How?”

The armourer grinned. “I have contacts. Other armourers who have provided pieces to ya. Wasn’t sure if their information was accurate, till now.”

“It fits, well.” Geralt dug his pouch out of his pocket, opening it up. “How much?”

“Five hundred coins would do me. I never thought ya’d ever step in me shop.” The armourer folded his arms, looking at Geralt with sharp eyes. “You, wearing that, is almost payment enough.”

Geralt paid, significantly bringing their money down. But armour was important. It was the very thing that had just saved Geralt’s life. Jaskier knew he’d have to put in some good work soon, whether he liked it or not. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to perform, he’d just hoped he wouldn’t have to do it too much on the trip, at least for money. Not that they _really_ needed to replenish their coin, but it didn’t hurt.

“Thank you very much,” the armourer said as he poured the coins into his own pouch. “Hope you have a good day, Witcher.”

“Same to you,” Geralt said turning away.

Jaskier grinned at the man before following Geralt out. The day was very much still in full swing, and after a couple days on the road, he was certainly excited to make his way down to the beach and relax. His leg had healed fairly well, and while he had less of a limp, the journey had taken its toll regardless.

“Shall we bag ourselves a room before going to the beach?” Jaskier asked, curling his hand around his lute strap.

“Hm.” Geralt touched his hair gently. “After the beach, shall we pay for a bath?”

Jaskier practically bounced on his feet. It was _very rare_ that Geralt ever suggested a bath, especially if he wasn’t covered in guts. “That sounds like a fantastic idea.”

“Let’s go then.”

The tavern had plenty of rooms to choose from and still, _even then_ , they ended up with a room with a double bed in it (only because the barkeep assumed they were together, and was so excited by the prospect of a bard and witcher being a couple, that any argument would have lost them the room). The barkeep also assured them a bath could be drawn up as soon as they were ready for it.

This tavern also had the luxury of the rooms having locks, so they dumped all their bags in the room (Jaskier kept his lute on him and Geralt kept his swords on him), and locked it on the way out. Keeping the key safe in Geralt’s pocket.

They made their way down to the beach, idly talking about the town. Geralt had been here many times before, yet hadn’t stayed to enjoy much of it. But that had been Geralt’s way, in the past. Now, he seemed very ready to enjoy things at any moment.

The sands were warmer the more they went southwards. And this beach was certainly no exception. The sun had baked the soft sands at the top of the beach, making Jaskier’s toes feel like they were both toasty warm and on fire. But it was worth it because it was the _coast_ , and this was a coastal trip. The beach was at the very forefront of their time here.

There were many people on the beach, since the town led right up to it, but there was still plenty of space to lounge. Geralt placed a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, smirking at him. And Jaskier _did not_ like the look in his eye.

“Do you want to build a sand castle?”

Okay, maybe Jaskier _did_ like the look in Geralt’s eye. Because it was unrestrained joy at the thought. “The wet sand is good for sculpting.”

“Is that a yes?”

Jaskier grinned. “It is.”

In an instant, Jaskier was running down to the wet sand, boots in hand. Geralt followed at a quick pace, however, he didn’t run like an excited child. Although, could Jaskier really be blamed? Geralt wanted to make a sand sculpture. Sand _castle_. That felt monumental. Like a part of Geralt was really shining on this trip.

Perhaps it was the experiencing a part of childhood he never got to have. The pure joy of life. Even Jaskier didn’t get that, being of a noble family, everything had been prim and proper. Prancing in the sand, building a sand sculpture, was not prim and proper. The two of them had something to learn here.

They both knelt down, staring at the sand. Jaskier shrugged and dug some of the hard sand up, clumping it together. Geralt watched carefully, and soon followed what Jaskier was doing. But he didn’t know what he was doing, it was guess work. What they really needed was a bucket, a small one.

“Have you built a sand castle before?” Geralt asked, patting his clump of sand into a cone, building it upwards with more sand.

Jaskier squished his sand back down. “No.”

“Neither have I.”

He laughed. “I’d guessed.” He helped Geralt add some more sand to his mound, the cone shape was widening, becoming more like a hill.

Jaskier carved a bit of it out, smiling at the vague window shape. “Look at that, it’s becoming a mighty sand sculpture already!”

Geralt shook his head, playfully slapping Jaskier’s arm. “Ye of little faith.”

“Faith, in you? In you building a sand sculpture? In us both doing that?” He giggled, swaying on his knees. “That’s absurd.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and carved a door out with his thumb. He began to build up another mound, another hill like sand structure right next to the first. But this one was smaller, thinner. It was a tower...

“You know what?” Jaskier said, slinging his lute from his shoulder and placing it beside him, lying back on his hands. “I think I might sit here and watch you.”

Geralt smiled. “Never took you for a quitter, Jask.”

That was the second time Geralt had said that nickname now. And it made Jaskier’s heart jump a little. Made him smile. “I’m not a quitter, oh no, I just like watching you work.” It was perhaps a confession that was too close to home, but he waited with bated breath, refusing to take his words back.

Geralt’s hands stilled for a moment, where they had been patting the sand. Seconds later, he continued to mould the tower. “Then you’re free to watch.”

Jaskier smiled, glad that he hadn’t just made things awkward with his big mouth. “Good, because I was going to watch anyway.”

Geralt hummed, continuing his castle. He built another tower, carving small slits into them. Arrowslits. Jaskier was surprised he wasn’t going to attempt making small sand people, as Geralt started on a mound that looked like a house. Once he was done with that structure, adding windows and a door, he sat back with a smile.

“It’s shit,” he said.

Jaskier chuckled, leaning forward, peering at the creation. “Yeah, but, we didn’t have any tools.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice.” He crawled over to Geralt, sitting beside him. “It’s beautiful, I’m proud of you.”

Geralt laughed softly, shoving Jaskier slightly. “It’s horrible.”

“Lovely.”

“Nasty.”

“Gorgeous.”

Geralt paused, staring at the castle. “Is it good for the first time creating one?”

Jaskier smiled, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I’d say so.”

“Then I accept your first answer. It’s nice.”

“My dear friend, I’m happy you have experienced the joy of a simple childhood tradition.”

Geralt huffed an amused breath. “Are you sure it’s not a one hundred year old witcher tradition?”

“Well, you could certainly make it into one.” He shook Geralt slightly. “Come on, let’s go to the rock pools. I fancy watching the wildlife.”

“Why?” Geralt wondered as they both stood, and Jaskier slipped his boots back on. “You weren’t interested in rock pools at the previous beaches.”

“Maybe I want to try something new.” He smiled and began walking towards them.

Once they got there, he crouched down and watched one of the pools bustle with life. Crabs scuttled around, plants swayed in the calm and warm waters. Limpets clung to the rocks all around, and moss was smoothed and stuck upon the smooth stones. There was plenty to see, and plenty to slip on. So, Jaskier stayed by the safety of the rock pool he’d found, deciding that straying too far would be dangerous for someone like him.

And his leg still wasn’t at his best, making him even more liable to slip.

Geralt sat beside him, glancing down at the rock pool. “A lot of life for such a small space.”

Jaskier smiled, watching as a hermit crab darted out from a hiding place. “It’s probably big to them.”

“Hm. Maybe.”

Jaskier didn’t know how long they sat there and watched, but it was an experience he’d be happy to feel again. The sun on his skin, the pool reflecting light as it held so much life within it, Geralt at his side, watching with him. The pure joy of feeling like a giddy child, with his crush beside him, in the everlasting summer sun, down at the coast.

He could use many words to describe it but would choose only one.

Perfect.

\--

“Want that bath drawn up for you?” the barkeep asked once they’d stumbled into the tavern, after spending all day at the beach.

“Yeah,” Jaskier said. “And could we get a bottle of Est Est?”

“Certainly.” The barkeep handed over the bottle and two cups, and Jaskier paid up, paying for the bath as well. “I’ll get my boys to draw up that bath for you.”

“A bottle of wine?” Geralt asked, voice curious.

Jaskier grinned at him. “Why not?”

They headed up as soon as the bath was drawn. Jaskier set the cups on the table and poured the wine into them, while Geralt stripped down. Jaskier took off his doublet, throwing it over the back of a chair. They hadn’t done this in a long while. Not during their trip, and not since days before the mountain. Jaskier took a sip of wine, needing it for courage, and dug into Geralt’s bag, smiling once he found the large and wide vial of chamomile oil. He pulled a bar of soap from his bag, the one which was scented with honey.

Jaskier spun around, watching as Geralt undid his trousers. “Need help?”

Geralt hummed, shucking his trousers and undergarments off. “My wounds are sore still.”

He nodded to the bath. It was a rather large one, which was handy when trying to bathe Geralt. “Get in then.”

It was strange to do this while Geralt was still, more or less, clean. Perhaps a little stinky, but that came with travelling and Jaskier was used to his scent by now. It was welcoming. Almost like he was blind to it. And when Geralt smelt of chamomile… Well, even better.

Jaskier tried to not… stare. But his eyes darted to Geralt’s cock as he walked. Gods, the thing always made him a little hot under the collar, the sheer girth of it. If he ever got to experience getting his mouth on it, Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d survive. Once Geralt’s back was to him, his arse was on full display and _what a beauty_. It was muscular, tight, likely to have a coin bounce back in your face if you tossed one off it. If he could ever slip right in, _that_ would kill him. Not that he ever could, because Geralt didn’t hold those feelings for him…

He shook the thoughts from his head, lest his cock stir up any trouble.

Geralt dipped under the water, coming back up with wet hair, grunting. Jaskier dragged a stool over, settling behind him. As always, he began with Geralt’s body. His hair came last, even though he’d rather do it first. But he had his reasons. Reasons that would once again become clear to him as soon as this truly began.

“What needs done?” he asked in a whisper.

Geralt tossed a look over his shoulder. “My shoulder, hurts. My back’s sore. My leg too.”

Jaskier wet his lips. “Everywhere then.”

“Yeah.”

Well… here went nothing. Jaskier poured plentiful amounts of oil into the palm of his hand, rubbing his hands together, getting it evenly spread. He pushed his hands against the shoulder that had been ripped to shreds only days ago. The injuries had healed well, very well. That potion, the paste, and the healing sleep must have done its job. He pushed his thumbs into it, repeatedly, feeling the tension slowly start to budge. As he laid his palms upon the shoulder and rubbed, carefully, Geralt _groaned_.

This. This is what made bathing Geralt so hard, apart from the fact that he was in a bath, very naked. It was the groans and moans when Jaskier kneaded a tight spot, or when he rubbed his palms – thick with oil – against his skin. And it _did things_ to Jaskier, because of course it did. He had to bite back his own moans when Geralt got to the point of truly blissed out, had to pretend his cock wasn’t hard and wanting.

But he’d get there later, for now, this was still the beginning of his torture. And it was just that. Torturing himself.

He poured more oil into his palm as he moved away from Geralt’s shoulder, smoothing his hands down his back, dipping under the water. He moved in circles now, using his thumbs when the muscles became tight, until they were pliant under his touch. Geralt let out small puffs of air, groaning when he eased at a tough spot, moaning when he spread the oil on his skin with the tips of his fingers, nearing his arse.

 _Fuck_. When his fingers neared his soft yet muscular bottom, he had to close his eyes, ridding his mind of all the things he wanted to do to Geralt. And _gods_ , how he wanted. “Does it need doing?” he asked, voice hoarser than he’d like as he curled his fingertips towards his plush bum.

Geralt sighed out, head rolling back. He must have gotten better, normally he wasn’t so… loose. His head usually stayed in place, staring forward. Not this time. “Yes.”

Geralt shifted to his side, and Jaskier withdrew his hands, only to add a little more oil to his fingertips, then he was diving back in, and _Melitele_ , was it divine to have his hands kneading Geralt’s lovely and perfectly round bottom once again. It certainly got his cock interested, and there was nothing he could do from this point on. All he had to do was ignore it and hope to the gods Geralt didn’t see it.

And, of course, his torture continued as Geralt let out a guttural moan, when Jaskier’s fingers inched towards dangerous territory. He bit at his lips, trying to stop a groan from escaping his throat. It came out as a whimper instead.

Did Geralt know what he did to him? What _this_ did to him?

He trailed his hands up from his arse before his mind went blank, or before he lost sight and became clouded with lust. He worked his hands up to Geralt’s other shoulder, and yet, all he wanted was to cup himself to relieve some of the pressure. That would have to come later, once the massaging was done. He rocked on the stool, seeking fiction where there was only air. Fuck. This was going to kill him one day.

He shifted his stool alongside the bath once he was done with the shoulder. He poured more oil into his hands, and rubbed up Geralt’s thigh. He wished he could reach out and touch Geralt’s glorious cock, but that wasn’t something he massaged, even if he wanted to, deeply. He made sure to massage where the wound had been gently, easing out all that tension. It hadn’t been the worse of the injuries, but it had weakened him, and it needed caring for.

He softly rubbed circles with his fingertips, dragging his thumbs over the faded scar of the wound, pushing into the muscle there. His leg was safely under the water, which made him slide once or twice towards the dangerous area, but he managed to keep the tips of his fingers away, no matter how much he wanted.

He dragged his palms all the way down his leg, dispelling any tension that had been present. When he moved to the other side of the bath, he did the same with Geralt’s other leg, although he spent less time at the thigh, considering no injury had been there.

By the time his fingers worked their way up his thigh for the last time, Jaskier was nearly gagging with lust. Geralt had his eyes closed, having sunk into the pleasure of it, as he did every time. His moans and groans had not stopped throughout, and this time, after he’d experienced Geralt being soft and talkative and more himself than ever, Jaskier had nearly lost it with both his love and his lust.

And they weren’t close to being done yet. There was still the matter of his hair. Which, gladly, and normally, made his erection die down.

“Are you good?” Jaskier asked, staring at Geralt as he pulled his hands from his thigh, to hang over the bath as they dripped with water.

Geralt slowly cracked his eyes open. “Mm. Your hands are something else, Jaskier.”

His heart leapt to his throat, and he suddenly struggled to breathe right. “I think I may have mastered the art of bathing you,” he whispered. The air was too thick, the tension too much.

Geralt gazed at him with eyes of… bliss. “I think you have.”

Jaskier gave a nod, hardly believing they were saying these words. He moved his stool back behind Geralt, and pressed down lightly. Geralt ducked his head under the water, getting it all lovely and wet again. Stray strands flicked water in his face and Jaskier grinned. He dipped the soap into the water, lathering it up as well as his hands.

He cast it aside as he brushed his fingers into Geralt’s hair, massaging at his scalp as he rubbed the soap in. His hair would look healthy and shiny after using this soap. After all, Jaskier only bought the best goods. He lathered his hands up again, stroking his fingers through the strands, getting it untangled on the way down. His hair was all soaped up in no time, and Jaskier’s erection had – thankfully – flagged.

“Sink down a little,” he said as he washed his hands off in the water, getting rid of the soap on his fingers.

Geralt did so and Jaskier cupped water in his hands and poured it gently over Geralt’s head. He repeated the action, occasionally getting Geralt to dunk, until the soap had run from his hair, leaving silky wet strands behind. Jaskier brushed his hand through it, feeling satisfied with the results.

“Can I plait it?” Jaskier asked, curling his fingers in a small section of his hair. He loved it, loved how long it was, loved its colour, the feel of it. “Nothing as complex as a braid, just, a simple plait.”

“Do it.”

Jaskier smiled and reached for Geralt’s band, sliding it onto his wrist. Now, it wasn’t best to plait hair when soaking wet, but it would at least let the hair rest, allowing it to wave nicely in the morning. Once dry.

He split the hair into three sections, using his rather deft fingers to weave each section around, plaiting down his hair in no time at all. It didn’t need to be the smartest or prettiest plait in the world, it just needed to be functional and look nice. Because Geralt looked lovely in plaits and braids. As lovely as he did with his half up half down ponytail.

He patted his shoulder once he tied it off. “I’ll let you wash whatever I missed, then it’s my turn.”

Geralt reached back for the plait, taking it into his hands, and Jaskier didn’t miss the smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you.” He looked over his shoulder. “You always treat my hair with care.”

Jaskier wanted nothing more than to cup Geralt’s face and tell him it deserved to be cared for, that _he_ deserved to be cared for. “It needs to be treat with delicacy.”

He hummed with a nod.

Once Geralt was done he used Igni to boil the bath back up. Jaskier undressed himself and dipped into the bath. He glanced to Geralt, who had slipped some soft trousers on, and was watching him like a hawk. Jaskier tried very hard not to swallow thickly under his gaze.

This… usually didn’t work the other way around. Geralt normally left him to do his own bathing, but this time, Geralt settled behind him on the stool. He settled his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, and he nearly shivered at the gentle touch.

“May I?” Geralt asked, voice strangely… strangled?

“Yes…”

Geralt’s hands left his skin, left it warm and burning, before they came back covered in oil, making the same movements he’d done on Geralt beforehand. And Geralt’s touch was stronger, but gentle, and so _relaxing_. He pulled any tension from him with ease, kneading out knots in his muscles, and Jaskier was groaning, eyes fluttering as Geralt took care of him.

Was this how he made Geralt feel? Gods, he hoped so. His cock stirred with interest as his mind wandered with what else those gorgeous hands could do. It was easy, to let his mind drift, to let his head fall back as Geralt massaged his muscles as if they were to be worshiped. With careful slow movements that nearly made him go insane.

It was so hard to concentrate on what was happening when all he wanted to do was close his eyes and let Geralt bathe him just like he did with him.

When Geralt reached his leg, he rubbed it slowly, slathering it with plenty of oil. He spent more time on it than he did on Geralt’s. He dug his thumbs deep, he rubbed circles, he flattened his palms across it. He applied more oil when no more needed adding, massaging it all over again, rubbing with precise movements. That, all of it, made Jaskier groan, too loudly. But Geralt didn’t seem to care, he continued his movements, and Jaskier let the noises escape his throat, unable to keep them at bay.

He was very glad his cock was hidden under the water.

Geralt, eventually, moved onto his other leg. Working his way up from his ankle. As his hands made their way up and down his thigh, his fingertips brushed a tad too close to Jaskier’s cock. His very hard cock. He gasped, his breath hitching. In an instant, Geralt stilled, hands still on his thigh. His eyes snapped to Jaskier’s, pupils blown. And… What the _fuck_. Was… No… He was seeing things. He blinked a few times, and he was sure it was all the massaging and hormones in the air getting to him.

Geralt looked back down, and the silence must have confirmed something, because he started to move once again, and Jaskier let his head drop back again, letting Geralt do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t like he would stop him.

Soon enough, the deep massaging stopped, and Jaskier was able to breathe again. But of course, there was his hair, which Geralt did not hesitate to help him with. Using the same soap to wash away any grim or grease from his hair. The shorter strands were easier to deal with, but that didn’t mean Geralt was any less thorough than Jaskier had been with him. He unknotted the strands, and washed away all the soap from them.

And then… that was it. Bath time over. Geralt left him to wash up, and Jaskier, feeling a bit daring, gave himself two gentle strokes, just for a little relief. Then, he washed everything Geralt hadn’t touched, stepping out of the bath once he was done, drying himself off with a towel. He got changed into his soft bedclothes, and crawled into the bed, lying beside Geralt once again.

He realised, that at some point during the journey, they had stuck to sides when in bed. On previous adventures, before the mountain, they would switch sides. But now, Jaskier was always on the left, and Geralt was always on the right. It was an interesting addition that Jaskier decided not to read into, for his own sanity.

He lay on his back, trying to calm himself down after that whole… experience. It had been something indeed, different and yet familiar, somehow.

“Thanks,” Jaskier whispered in the quiet. “My leg… feels better.” After he’d very nearly massaged it off.

Geralt turned his head, smiling slightly. “That was my plan.”

Jaskier breathed in, feeling at peace. “Your hands are stronger than mine, I feel boneless.”

“Your hands do much more work than you give them credit for, Jask. I felt like I was merely air in the bath.”

“Oo, a simile. I’m impressed.” Jaskier smirked at him. “I’ll make a poet out of you yet.”

Geralt pushed at his shoulder playfully, rolling his eyes. “Don’t let me become that.”

“ _Aw_ , why not?”

“Because there should only be one poet between us, and it’s you.” The smile upon his lips nearly blew Jaskier away, it was so fond and gentle.

“That’s…” He glanced away, unsure of what to say, when he noticed the wine on the table, and the two full cups. “Oh, _Geralt_ , we didn’t drink the wine!” He went to get up, when one of Geralt’s hands reached out and pushed him back down.

“It’s been a long day, go to sleep, we’ll take it with us and drink it when we make camp.” There was such a softness to his voice, how was he supposed to ignore that?

“Okay… okay.” He smiled. “Goodnight.”

Geralt sighed. “Night.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Going to sleep after a bath was a fantastic idea, and maybe he also fell asleep to dirty thoughts circling around in his mind.

\--

Light streamed into his eyes, interrupting his lovely dream… Was it morning already? With a sigh, he opened his eyes and shifted. In two horrific short moments, he realised two things. One, he was hard, _very_ , no doubt because of his dream. Two, Geralt was curled around him, leg thrown over one of Jaskier’s, his heavy arm holding him in place, and he too was hard. Then, in a cruel moment of fate, Geralt’s sleeping form rutted against Jaskier’s arse.

Well, perhaps the light wasn’t what woke him.

Geralt didn’t stop, no, his hips rolled against Jaskier again, and he couldn’t help but breathlessly moan, eyes fluttering. His mind went to a dirty place very quickly, too quickly, and before he could stop himself, he cupped his cock, cursing the fabric of his trousers for being in the way. He knew he shouldn’t do it, touch himself, not while Geralt was asleep, but his mind was still tired and Geralt _was_ moving against him, his hard cock brushing against Jaskier’s arse.

It wasn’t like he could move away, not with Geralt’s arm pinning him there.

He palmed himself, groaning as a whine escaped Geralt’s lips. He wouldn’t go further, wouldn’t slip a hand underneath his waistband. There was such a thing as going _too far_. But, for now, he could do this, and pretend. Pretend that this was real, that they had admitted their mutual feelings, and not just the morning rubbing off on them.

He knew the moment Geralt woke, as the movements suddenly stilled from their franticness. Jaskier slowly calmed his breathing, which had picked up when his palming got a little… enthusiastic. Geralt pulled his leg off Jaskier’s, putting a little distance between them.

“Jaskier… are you awake?” Geralt asked, voice small.

“Yes.”

“I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s…” Jaskier rolled onto his back, looking to Geralt who was still on his side, hand on his hip, looking like he wanted nothing more than to relieve himself. “We’re both– It brought some relief.” He cringed at himself, face scrunching up apologetically. “I didn’t mean to take advantage, but I couldn’t move.” He gestured wildly. “Your arm.”

Geralt’s eyes were full of apology, a concerned furrow at his brow. “Gods, Jaskier, I… I’m sorry I did that to you.”

Jaskier swallowed. _Well_. There was one way to remedy this situation. “We could help each other out?” At Geralt’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “Look, it’s either getting each other off quickly, or finding private places to get rid of our problems. I know which I’d prefer.”

It was dangerous. It was a _terrible_ idea. He didn’t even know why he suggested it. But he was still half asleep and he _wanted_. His lust was taking over his heart before it could intervene and tell him this would only destroy them in the end.

But he couldn’t take his words back now. So he stared at Geralt, waiting.

“Okay,” Geralt said, voice slightly rough.

He wasn’t sure he heard right. “Okay?”

“Yes.” Geralt toyed with the waistband of his trousers. “As long as you want to?”

Jaskier shucked his trousers down, letting his cock spring free. “Yeah. I want to.”

Geralt shoved his trousers down and shifted closer. There was a pause, of bated breath, like they were both questioning if this was the right thing to do. Until… Until Geralt’s hand reached out, slow and purposeful. And Jaskier shuddered with the anticipation. And then, and then, _oh gods_.

Jaskier let out a shaky breath turned moan as Geralt curled his fingers around his cock, stroking, hesitantly. With shaky fingers, Jaskier got his hand around Geralt’s cock, biting back a triumphant sigh at finally being able to _touch_. He palmed at the head, half smiling as Geralt groaned, his eyes fluttering.

There was a moment that passed, of experimental strokes and pulls, of tightened grips and flicks of the wrist. Then, as Jaskier was getting lost in it all, in the feeling of having Geralt touch him, making him feel good, and him doing just the same to _him_ , Geralt gave out a gasp and shifted, his head crashing softly against Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Gods, Jask, talk to me.”

“What do you need me to say?” he said, breathless, hardly keeping his mind present with Geralt’s hand on him, stroking him lazily now.

“I–” His grip tightened, and he stroked hard, and _oh_. _Oh…_ “Is this okay?”

“Gods– Is this– Yes, it’s okay, it’s bloody– Oh! _Oh gods_ , do that again.”

Geralt complied and Jaskier could feel himself teeter ever closer to the edge. Geralt had technique, and it was _good_. Better than good. He decided that he wasn’t trying hard enough with Geralt, and switched his tactic from slow and loving, to rough and dirty, and he practically felt Geralt fall apart as he panted into his shoulder.

Words left them again, only ‘gods’ and ‘yes’ were murmured against their groans and moans. Jaskier was sure he’d blanked out several times as the affair continued. Until they both seemed to get with the picture that it had been going on for too long. It became faster, harder, rougher (yet still gentle enough so as not to hurt) and then…

Then Jaskier’s hips shuddered and he was spilling onto Geralt’s hand, just as Geralt whined into his shoulder, his come flooding Jaskier’s fingers, covering them almost completely. They stayed together, breathing heavily, hands still too close to softened cocks.

Jaskier wasn’t exactly sure how long it had been when Geralt pulled away, flopping onto his back. Jaskier rolled over, lying flat as well. Staring up at the ceiling, he slowly committed everything that had just happened to memory. Because… yeah.

“Good?” Geralt asked, still panting.

“Good,” Jaskier whispered, resting his hand on his stomach. As he lay there, listening to Geralt’s breathing calm, the horror set in.

Gods…

What had they done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, wellll, I wonder what will happen next!!   
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed, it's always nice to hear what you all think!! :D


	7. A Soul's Talk

Strangely, things weren’t awkward after... the incident. Almost like it was normal. Just... two friends... helping one another out... in the morning... after sharing a bed... when one friend is in love with the other... and said friends are soul bonded...

Fuck.

It had been a mistake, a bad one, and yet, they had said nothing about it. Geralt hadn’t been disgusted afterwards, it had just been... He hadn’t wanted things to go like that, but they had. And maybe, it was all he would get. Not that he was best pleased with the situation, he’d gotten carried away.

The only thing he was glad for was that nothing bad had come from it. That Geralt was still smiling, still talking to him. It wasn’t awkward at all, and he didn’t understand. Because everything he thought he’d known had been destroyed with one act. Because, in some small way, Geralt desired him.

And what was he supposed to do with _that_ information? Geralt wasn’t some fling, not some one night deal. They were friends, good friends, best friends. Jaskier was _in love_ with him, and Geralt was... what?

Sooner or later they had to have a conversation Jaskier would never be ready for. He had to tell him, about the bond, _at least_. Maybe the curse and his love could come later, but telling him about the bond, that had to come first.

So, he made a promise to himself. Next time they found themselves with a room in a town or village, he would tell him.

“What do you think we’ll end up doing next?” Geralt said, looking over to Jaskier.

Jaskier pointedly looked ahead, staring at the sunbeams filtering through the canopy of trees above them. “I have no idea. Maybe we’ll run into another festival. Maybe we’ll end up on the beach again. We seem to gravitate towards it.”

“This is a coastal trip after all.”

“It is.” And it had been weeks, and when was it going to end? He _never_ wanted it to end. But he knew it had to, one day. “And I’m not saying ending up on the beach is a bad thing.”

Geralt nodded and smiled. “Some of my favourite moments of our trip has been on the beach.”

Jaskier ducked his head, his chest constricted. “Mine too.”

“How is your coast song coming along? I’ve heard you whisper lyrics to yourself when you play the melody.”

“It’s coming along well. I want one more story before I complete it though.”

“What kind of story are you looking for?”

Jaskier stared up at the trees, breathing deeply and sighing out. “I’m not sure. I’ve got our first day. The festival. You’re heroics against the beast... Perhaps there needs to be romance.”

Geralt made a small noise, one Jaskier couldn’t decipher. When he glanced over, Geralt’s lips were pressed into a thin line. “Going to woo a woman? Take her down to the beach and play for her?” His voice... Well, it did sound like he was just curiously asking, wondering how Jaskier would gain the romance he needed for the song. But he swore he heard a bitterness there.

“Who says I need a woman to find something romantic?” Jaskier raised his eyebrows at Geralt. “Maybe we’ll witness an old couple on the beach, having a lovely day. That’s romantic. It doesn’t have to include me.” He glanced down. “It probably won’t,” he murmured, a little too sadly.

Geralt opened and closed his mouth several times. Jaskier watched carefully, ready for any words that came out of his mouth. “You were forty when I pushed you away... Why didn’t you find love then?”

He didn’t expect that.

But the answer was simple, and this wasn’t the right time to tell the truth. Even though his soul screamed at him to do just that. “You mean why didn’t I find love and settle down?”

Geralt hummed.

“I told you why.”

“You still could have found love and travelled with her.”

No, no he couldn’t have. Because he only wanted to travel with _him_ , only wanted to _love_ him like that. “Who says it would have been a ‘her’?”

He was done with the conversation, so he squeezed Daisy with his thighs, spurring her into a trot. She took him a far distance away from Geralt, and he kept up the pace, glancing back once to see that Geralt still had Roach in a walk, looking forlorn.

What was happening?

He wasn’t sure how much time passed when Geralt came cantering up to him, and Jaskier pulled Daisy back into a walk, as did Geralt with Roach. They stayed silent for a long moment, walking side by side. Roach and Daisy looked ready to buck them off, if he was interpreting their head movements correctly.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt eventually said. “I... want the best for you, Jaskier. I want you to live a life that’s more than this.”

“This is what I need, Geralt. If you don’t realise that, you haven’t been looking.”

“I...” He sighed, exasperated. “You could have died, when that monster...”

“And you think everyone is not at risk from a monster all the time? I’m safer with you, even if you can’t see it, I’m _safest_ when I’m with you.” Jaskier clenched his jaw, tightening his hands around Daisy’s reins. “I’m choosing to be here, with you, every day. And I will choose to be at your side for as long as I live. It’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

Geralt frowned. “I’m not.”

“To me you are, you always will be. Always have been.” Geralt looked at him like a lost puppy, and Jaskier wanted to ball him up and hold him tight to his chest. They needed to stop having conversations like this. “Come on, if we ride hard enough, we could find another village before nightfall.”

Geralt smiled, it was small, tiny. “Okay, Jask. But don’t get carried away, Roach needs to keep up.”

“Right you are.”

Galloping and cantering along the coastal road was freeing. Having Geralt by his side made it even better. And he was safe, and he was okay, and all he needed was this friendship, and to never be told he could leave again.

\--

Jaskier stretched out on his bedroll, pulling his lute into his lap. He tested it, ensuring it was in tune, before strumming out a familiar melody. Geralt, who had been setting out his bedroll for the night, somewhat adjacent but almost opposite to where Jaskier had settled, huffed.

“I’m beginning to grow tired of that melody,” he murmured, pulling a blanket from his bag.

Jaskier laughed a small bit. “This melody is ancient, it’s to be treasured.”

He felt Geralt’s eyeroll more than he saw it. “Toss a Coin shouldn’t be popular anymore.”

“But _it is_. Despite you trying to ruin its reputation.”

Geralt grinned at him, lying down, pulling the blanket over himself. He rested his head on his hand, gazing with mirth in his eyes. “I don’t know how, but you managed to save it. Even with all the lords at that banquet.”

“People tend to believe the creator.” He winked. “I’m famous enough to be listened to.”

“Hm. I’m going to sleep. Don’t wake me up with Blacksmith’s Son again.”

Jaskier smirked. “I’ll try not to.”

Geralt gave him a half withering stare, before turning his back to him, and presumably going to sleep. Jaskier stared for a moment, particularly at his hair. He wondered what it would be like, to brush his fingers through it while they…

Well, it was never going to happen again, was it? A onetime thing, when they were desperate, having both woken up hard. It had even been Jaskier’s suggestion, but then… Well, Geralt hadn’t been opposed, and he had looked fairly ashamed when he’d realised what he had been doing in his sleep. But not ashamed because it was Jaskier or because he was a man, but ashamed that he had done it without possible consent.

Jaskier was beginning to realise that Geralt, he wanted _something_ , but how much he wanted was a mystery. If he had feelings... couldn’t he just tell him? Then again, that was being hypocritical, since Jaskier hadn’t spoke of his own. And he wasn’t sure if he ever would.

He strummed his lute as quietly as possible, plucking at the strings, seeing what his mind came up with on the calm night. Somewhere along the line, and he wasn’t sure when, he’d mashed together the melodies of Toss a Coin and Fishmonger’s Daughter. And that was… interesting. Maybe it was his brain wandering to subconscious thoughts. A song about Geralt, paired with a song about pulling on your horn in the morning. That definitely meant _something_ to his mind, his very traitorous mind at that.

His thoughts were shattered as he heard a whimper.

That didn’t sound like an _injured_ whimper. In fact, Jaskier had heard that very specific sound before. And he’d only heard it from Geralt once… when they were in bed, when they were… Oh, _gods_.

Was he?

He was, wasn’t he?

Jaskier placed his lute back in its case, trying to be quiet. Geralt was obviously trying to stay silent, but Jaskier could see how the blanket shifted, how strangled gasps and bitten down moans escaped him regardless. And Jaskier _groaned_ , his cock stirring with interest.

Well, _fuck_. This was going to go down very differently.

“Geralt– are you?” Jaskier asked, needing to know, even though he’d already guessed.

“ _Yes_ ,” came his reply, sounding more like a plea, like a moan.

Jaskier’s eyes slipped shut as he palmed himself through his trousers, listening for Geralt’s every breath, for the way he moved, for the _sounds_ he made. He groaned as he pushed into his hand, his cock wanting.

“Yes, Jask, join me.”

He didn’t read into the implications of the statement, already too far gone. He lay back, slipping his hand down his trousers. His subconscious thoughts came to the forefront of his mind. Of Geralt lying on his back, naked and hot from Jaskier getting his mouth on him, taking him down right to the base, even if it would choke him and leave his voice raw for days, it would be worth it, worth pleasuring Geralt.

He let out a groan, it bursting from him as he stroked his cock hard at the very thought of that. Getting his mouth on Geralt was a dream, but maybe it wasn’t so much anymore. Maybe he’d get to.

“What– What do you do when _you_ prep men, Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice practically boomed in the quiet of their camp. Even though there were the distinct sounds of what they were doing, it was louder still.

Jaskier moaned as he gripped his cock tight, trying to get his brain to function beyond _this_. “Who’s to say I prep them?”

“You…” Geralt threw his head back and Jaskier watched carefully, moaning at the image, “have that look about you when you proposition men, the way you act… sometimes.”

Jaskier had to admit, Geralt _had_ been looking. He was too busy to pay much attention to that though. “I have oil, _so much oil_ , get my fingers so slick, so they can slide freely.” He let the image of doing that to Geralt overwhelm him. He tugged hard on himself, groaning, getting lost in it. “I start with one, curling and pushing in, right to the knuckle. Then two, stretching out becomes easier then. Some– Sometimes I apply more oil before I plunge the third finger in, pushing in deep enough to find the right spot, to massage at it until I have a writhing and groaning mess under me.”

All he could imagine was Geralt under him, flushed and begging, wanting nothing more than to scream he was ready, but Jaskier knew better, knew to get him fully prepared, not to let impatience win out, and only when he fucked himself on Jaskier’s fingers, would he coat up his cock generously and slide in.

Jaskier was spilling over his fingers before he knew what had happened. He glanced over to Geralt, who seemed to have stilled as well. Oh… okay. So, that had happened. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out, calming his frantic heart.

“G– Geralt?” he whispered, loud enough to be heard.

But no reply came, only the soft puffs of air he blew out when asleep. Huh… That good? Jaskier glanced down at himself and sighed at the mess. If this didn’t stop, if they continued this… he wasn’t sure how he was going to survive.

Fuck, he was so fucked.

\--

It was a good few days since they’d run into a village, almost a week since they’d left that town. But the village had a tavern, and Jaskier had a promise to himself. Geralt suggested they got a room, and they did so. Jaskier played all night long, right up to midnight. He racked up a good payment from the tavern goers, which helped immensely in keeping their pouches full. Someone had recognised that he was Jaskier, however, which was probably why he’d managed to gain so much money.

Famous bards did get good tips.

He’d been nervous all night, but he strayed away from most alcohol, only having a little here and there. He wanted to be sober when he told Geralt the truth of their bond. He had no idea how this night would end, and he was fully expecting the whole coastal trip to fall apart, but Geralt had to know, especially since they were... Yeah.

When they went up for the night, and Geralt sat on the bed to take his boots off, Jaskier paced to the other side of the room, hands on his hips as he stared at the wall. Back to Geralt. Luckily, he hadn’t been drinking too much tonight either, only had a few ales... Jaskier could do this... they were both sober enough to have a conversation like this and tipsy enough to deal with it.

“Geralt, I have to tell you something.”

A boot thudded off the floor, the bed creaked. “What is it?” There was a hesitance to his voice.

“You asked me about my destiny, and I told you I wasn’t ready to say.” He turned around, hands still on his hips. Geralt was sitting on the middle of the bed, legs crossed. As if he wanted to be truly attentive. “I’m going to tell you now, and I need you to not... I need you to not, okay?”

Geralt parted his lips, slowly tilting his head. “Okay...”

Jaskier grabbed a chair from the table and sat down, directly across from Geralt. “Ciri felt a magic in me, when she met me in Oxenfurt last year. When I met with her and Yennefer for that dinner I never had, they told me–”

He took a long breath in, steadying himself. How was he supposed to tell Geralt? A man who had told destiny to fuck off, and destiny fucked him back tenfold.

“Jask...?” Geralt whispered carefully. Huh, he must have been silent for too long.

He swallowed thickly. “They told me a magic was hiding in my soul. A spell that was usually only done on nobles to ensure secure, strong marriages.” He closed his eyes, this was too much to bear. “They told me the spell was to bind my soul to another. Said the magic is unpredictable and rarely works, but it worked for me. The mage can’t choose who to bind a person to, it’s destiny that finds a matching soul.” He opened his eyes, knowing fine well Geralt would see they were welling with tears. Geralt was staring, expression apprehensive. “You’re my matching soul. I’m soul bonded to you.”

Geralt inhaled shakily. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“Neither had I till Ciri and Yennefer told me.”

“What does it mean, for us?”

“It means our relationship is inherently more intense. Whatever we feel towards each other is stronger. Hate is stronger, irritation is stronger, our friendship is stronger. Any emotion we direct towards each other is far more intense than it would be if we weren’t bonded.”

Geralt closed his eyes, mumbling swears. “My anger... on the mountain. I never understood why it was so much.”

“Because we feel so intensely towards each other.”

“Jaskier, fuck, I... I’m–” He breathed roughly, shaking his head. He scooted off the bed, padding over to the window. Jaskier trailed him with his eyes. “I’m sorry you’re bonded to a witcher.”

“I’m not. I’ve chosen you time and time again, Geralt. The bond didn’t make me do that, the bond just makes me _feel_ more when it comes to you. I would never regret having that bond with you. Never.”

Geralt hung his head, arms laying limply at his sides. “Never?”

“Never, _ever_.” Jaskier stood, making his way over to Geralt, smoothing a hand up his back. “See why I can’t leave you now? Destiny would only throw you back in my path sooner or later. Our souls match, we’re bonded, the magic is pure. It’s destiny anyway... Leaving you would be a terrible fate for me.”

Geralt turned, his golden eyes had tears within them. For many others, he was sure this moment would be happy. But not for them... because how could it possibly? “Destiny...” He huffed a wet laugh. “Fucking destiny. Of course it would be you, it had to be.” Jaskier didn’t catch his drift, almost sure Geralt was speaking his thoughts aloud. His face dropped quickly enough though, horror crossing his eyes. Now that was the reaction Jaskier had been expecting. “What... Gods, what happens when you grow old?”

Oh.

Oh no.

He recalled words he’d said years back. ‘He would have to watch me wither and die’. They couldn’t outrun each other for long, and destiny would never let a matching soul die without the other being present.

“No... Geralt...”

“You... You’d grow old and then you’d... Would my soul survive that?”

It was a good question, because any romantic tales of soulmates spoke of the crushing grief that consumed the one that was left behind. Maybe those stories were true since soul bonds were real. “I don’t know. I– We could die at any time, and we will, one day, but I’ll die long before you if it is of old age I die of.”

“No.” Geralt scrunched his eyes shut. Tears wheedled their way out anyway, rolling down his cheeks. “No, Jaskier, there has to be a way...”

Jaskier frowned. If there was a way... humans would have done it long ago. But only mages, only witchers, only elves, and many other creatures lived long lives, humans did not.

He didn’t know what to say, so he pulled at Geralt’s shoulder, bringing him close, into a hug. Geralt hid his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, while Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s hair, breathing in the soft scent of the honey soap they used to wash it. He smoothed his hands across his back, laying his palms flat there.

“It’ll be okay, we have decades yet,” he whispered, rubbing gently.

Geralt sniffled, sobbing quietly. “It’s not enough. Not when, not when we’re soul bonded.”

“Life always leaves people wanting.” He tilted his head sideways, pressing his cheek up against his shoulder. “It’s part of living.”

“Fuck life. Fuck destiny.” He tightened his hold around Jaskier, his hands curling around his waist. “I don’t want to lose you either, Jask.”

“You won’t, not yet anyway.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“None of this can be made better.” Jaskier let his tears run, too weak not to. “But we can make the most of the time we do have.”

Geralt held him closer, as if he never wanted to let go, never wanted to let this moment end. “Then we will. We have to.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and let the moment run away with him. He loved Geralt with all his heart, but talk of him dying of old age ripped his soul away and left him bare. It hurt, so much, to know that despite their matching souls, Jaskier was human and would die centuries before Geralt would succumb to old age.

Not to say they couldn’t die at any time, they could. But if they were to live their entire lifespans, well, perhaps Jaskier would become that faded but painful memory.

They had decades, and first, they had this trip. The coast would heal them again, as it had done before.

\--

Jaskier laughed, throwing his head back. He could hardly believe the townspeople had roped Geralt into telling the children a story about the most frightening monster possible. Not to scare them, not at all, the children were merely curious, and many of the people in the town were fascinated about biology and science.

So, Geralt was sat down by the fire, surrounded by children sitting on the floor, cross-legged and eager, staring up at Geralt as if he was to be listened to carefully and not to be interrupted.

Jaskier watched from a nearby table, sipping at his small Est Est. It was entertaining, watching Geralt get actively involved. Miming with his hands for what had happened, or how the monster looked. He was good with the children, very good. He imagined, while raising Ciri, that he had been like this in ways.

Jaskier leant on his hand and sighed, watching as Geralt’s hair swayed back and forth with each movement, how his eyes glowed with mystery as he told the story. Jaskier was in love. And if he hadn’t been already, he would have fallen in love then, because Geralt was a wonder.

“I see you’ve gotten your muse back,” a voice– No. Piotr said. It was a surprise, to say the least. He hadn’t expected to run into him this far south.

Jaskier looked to him, noting the lute on his shoulder. His clothes were pristine, like he’d expect a professor of Oxenfurt’s to be. “Piotr, you’re looking well.”

“I took your advice on board and I’m better than ever!” he said excitedly, with a spring in his stance.

“I’m glad. You’re travelling far then?”

“I am indeed.”

“How is it? Travelling while old?” Jaskier hoped he didn’t cause offence, but since his conversation with Geralt, since he’d told him about the soul bond, he’d worried.

“You said it yourself, you’re almost fifty and show no signs of stopping, and neither am I.” Piotr sat down, smiling gently at him. “I won’t lie, it’s hard. I sometimes can’t travel again for a week after reaching a town because my bones couldn’t take it. But it’s worth it, for the people. For me.”

Jaskier smiled, tapping his fingers off the table. He stared down, a little sorrowful. “Geralt and I have discussed some things... like me getting old. I’m terrified of it, Piotr. I never want to stop singing, I never want to stop being at his side.”

Piotr hummed knowingly, as if he was being an understanding father. “Then don’t. Getting old is natural, Jaskier. Don’t be scared of it. I’m sure your witcher will still love having you around.”

Jaskier frowned. “I’ll slow him down one day...”

“Then slow him down, for love.”

Jaskier snapped his eyes to Piotr, looking at him with a sharpness. “Who said anything about love?”

“Oh, come on, Jaskier. I’m a poet, just like you, we’re trained to see what others don’t, to read between the lines. And I can see, as clear as day, that you love your witcher. You’re not the first to fall in love with your muse, you won’t be the last.”

Jaskier looked away, shaking his head. “Fuck... It’s that obvious?”

“To me, yes. To other poets, probably. To others, to your witcher? Probably not.”

Jaskier let out a breath of relief. “Thank the gods.”

“You’re scared to tell him.”

“I don’t want to lose him again.”

Piotr frowned in sympathy. “You already lost him before, it would hurt you too much to lose him again.”

“He broke my heart, but he’s never known of my feelings.”

“Why not tell him? He’s a good man, according to your songs. Would he really walk away if you did?”

“I don’t know, and I honestly don’t want to find out.”

Piotr reached across the table and patted Jaskier’s hand, as a supportive parent would do to their child. “I’m sure it would be fine. You’re Julian Alfred Pankratz. A viscount. A nobleman. A bard, poet and minstrel. You’re famous, known across the Continent... And you’re kind, witty, lovable. Very lovable. If that witcher would walk away from you after finding out you love him, with all your heart it seems, then he was never worth your time in the first place.”

Jaskier glanced over to Geralt, who was deep in the story now, eyes completely focused on the children. “He’ll always be worth my time, even if he rejects me and walks away. Destiny always throws him back to me.”

Piotr’s eyes widened. “You... Jaskier, he could never walk away from you if destiny has forced you together.”

“He could hate me though, and we’d run into each other, hating one another until I die. I don’t want that.”

“You worry too much. Has life taught you nothing?”

Jaskier grimaced, knowing what life had taught him all too well. “It’s taught me getting hurt in the name of love isn’t worth the pain.”

Piotr thinned his lips, drumming his fingers off the table. “The Countess de Stael?”

“I was hurt by her, as I’ve been hurt by many others. Geralt is one of the few I’ve let back in after heartbreak, but his was worse, because it was pure.”

“True love...”

“Yes.”

Piotr sighed, sympathy written upon his features. “Oh, Jaskier, tell the fool. I’ve heard many stories of Jaskier and the White Wolf of late. One of which being your trip to the beach in Bispham. People murmur about a sand castle, and you sitting by a rock pool with Geralt beside you, like you were a couple – in love – courting each other.”

“That... It can’t have spread miles that quickly. It’s only been a week and a half.”

Piotr smirked. “I’m a bard, Jaskier, catching onto stories early on is our craft.”

“Shit.” Jaskier rubbed his forehead. “Sometimes I think this trip is destroying us.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because we’re on the precipice of something and I have no idea what it is.”

Piotr sat back with a grin. “I believe you do.” He glanced towards Geralt, and Jaskier followed his line of sight, realising that Geralt was finishing up with the children. They were thanking him for the story. As they stepped away, Geralt’s eyes searched out for Jaskier, smiling at him. “I think you’re both blind to each other.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, quirking his mouth. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll find out.”

“Who’s this?” Geralt said as he approached the table.

Jaskier grinned at him. “This is Piotr, my old professor at Oxenfurt. Piotr, this is Geralt of Rivia.”

Piotr stood and stuck out his hand. “Charmed.”

Geralt shook his hand. “So, are you one of the professors responsible for making Jaskier think he’s a humble bard?”

“I _am_ humble,” Jaskier murmured, placing his head on his hand. “Stop saying I’m not.”

Geralt grinned at him. “Hm. No.”

Piotr chuckled. “No, I’m not. Every bard should know they are far from humble. But I do believe it was Tytus who put that idea in his head.”

“It was,” Jaskier said. “Made all us young poets believe in ourselves more than what other people thought of us. Hence, I’m a humble bard.”

Geralt pulled another chair to the table, sitting in it. “I’ll accept you’re humble on the day people stop tossing coins towards me.”

“That day will never happen because, frankly, coins should be thrown towards you, _and_ I’m still waiting for the day someone bounces a coin off your arse.”

Geralt stared for a moment before a roaring laugh burst from his throat. Mumbles of arse and bounce were eked out as he laughed. Piotr chuckled, almost sounding like he was giggling, giving Jaskier a mischievous look. Jaskier smiled throughout, feeling rather proud of his joke.

“I’ll throw a coin off your arse, Witcher,” Piotr said. “If anything, it might prove something.”

Geralt shook his head. “No one is throwing a coin off my arse. It’s not happening.”

Piotr laughed again. “Alright, if you say so.” He winked at Jaskier. “Isn’t that right?”

Jaskier winked back. “Yeah.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I will not allow a coin to be thrown off my arse.”

“We’ll see about that!” Piotr exclaimed loudly, picking a coin from his pouch.

“Is an old man going to try and bounce a coin off me, Jaskier? Why have you done this?”

Jaskier beamed. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re not sorry in the slightest.”

“I know.”

Geralt grinned at him, and Jaskier grinned back. And for the thousandth time on this trip, Jaskier fell in love just a little deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo, now Jaskier has spoken of the bond, I wonder what other truths will be told next???
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr! ^.^!](https://kateis-cakeis.tumblr.com/)


	8. A Love Shared

They were approaching the last town they dared to go to this far south. After staying there, they would head back up north to finish their journey somewhere up there. For now, the town looked like it was truly bustling. Merchants seemed to be rolling in alongside them, and people were walking up the main road in groups.

It all became clear as they saw stalls. It was a market. And judging by the decorations, it was a summer festival. A big one considering all the people that were pouring in. Ending their southern leg of their trip with a festival was rather lovely. The air was warm, the sun was bearing down, high in the sky, lighting up the town with its yellow glow.

They set up Daisy and Roach at the stables and ventured through the town. This was much bigger than the festival at the village. Stalls lined every street. The whole town was out of their houses, and people from other towns had come along. He recognised a few faces from their recent days of travel, and he knew they had ventured a good few miles. This was an event that was treasured by the local coastal communities, he could tell from their smiles and the effort everyone had gone to.

This town was situated right at the beach, stretching up into the fields beyond the sand dunes.

Jaskier and Geralt didn’t buy much, only getting a few sweet things here and there, and fruit to munch on and save for their horses. They observed much of the wares, however, though, he doubted anything would match up to the lute necklace or the picture Geralt had bought.

On the beach, the festival continued. Every few paces there was a fire, with something roasting upon it. Rabbits, rats, deer. There were a lot of mouths to feed, and he was sure not everyone who was making food was sharing. Although, there was one overarching fire with a large pot upon it. And when they passed by it, Jaskier realised it was a stew. Plenty of food to go around indeed.

There were musicians upon the beach too, and Jaskier made a note of that. They would have to come back later, so he could charm the masses with his singing.

Geralt caught Jaskier’s shoulder as they wandered back into town, to look at more stalls. Jaskier furrowed his brow at him, wondering why he had been stopped.

“Should we get a room?” Geralt asked.

“Why not? We may as well.”

“Let’s get it now before they’re all taken.”

Jaskier gave a nod, and they did just that, renting a room at the largest tavern in town. They had plenty going, but again, because of the barkeep presuming, they were saddled with the double bed. Jaskier was almost convinced it was a curse at this point. Ever since that time they... It hadn’t happened since the camp incident, and they had slept in double beds since, (only two), but this was different. It _felt_ different somehow. Jaskier couldn’t explain why.

It was just a feeling he had.

By the time the afternoon was peeling away, leaving the evening in its wake, they headed back down to the beach.

When they found a suitable spot amongst all the people, Geralt went off to get two potions of stew for them. They sat on the soft sands, half undressed (with Jaskier’s doublet off to the side, Geralt’s shirt buttons undone, and their boots beside them), eating calmly. They faced the sea, the rolling waves.

Jaskier liked to fill the silence, it was part of who he was, but during this trip, he’d decided some silences were worth the quiet. Like this one. The peacefulness of it alone made it worth it.

Once they were done with their stew, Jaskier pulled his lute from its case and held it close. He grinned at Geralt who stood too, keeping close but stepping far enough back that he would form the rough circle of where the crowd would go.

Speaking of, as he began to play, people started to surround him in a semicircle, encroaching no further than the distance Geralt stood at. It was like he knew, how to control the crowd. Maybe he’d been watching _and_ taking notes on this trip.

Just like Geralt had said, when they first talked about going, he’d drawn people in. The warm sunset created a magical glow over him and the people surrounding him. Geralt was off to his side, and as Jaskier launched into the lyrics of Fishmonger’s Daughter’s twin and sequel song, Blacksmith’s Son, Geralt sung the words quietly along with him.

Jaskier’s heart very nearly melted.

To appease Geralt, more than anything else, he played the melody for the coast song he was still working on. Despite their previous conversation, Geralt lit up at the tune, and Jaskier beamed at him. He knew he should have been looking at the crowd, gauging their reactions, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off Geralt. Not even if he wanted to. He was captivating, the way he hummed along, smiling like he was really enjoying himself. And while Jaskier had seen it before on this trip, it felt different as the golden light of the sunset cast itself upon Geralt’s hair.

Jaskier got a good few songs in before some of the crowd split off to grab food from one of the many fires. He played a few of his most famous songs, then his forgotten songs that had never truly picked up (but this crowd seemed to like them well enough).

By the time he’d stopped, and the crowd had dissipated, he realised the sun had nearly set. The night was leaking into the day, consuming the light slowly but surely.

Geralt approached him, a glint in his eye that was almost unbearable to look at. It was far too overwhelming. He certainly didn’t know what it meant either. Geralt reached out, tentative, and tucked a stray hair behind Jaskier’s ear, smiling lightly.

“You were wonderful.”

Jaskier beamed as a blush rose on his cheeks from the gesture, the words. “Thank... you.”

Geralt’s smile widened a tad, but it faltered slightly. “Come, I have to tell you something.”

Geralt led him back to the tavern, to their room. Jaskier held his lute close to him, terrified. Geralt didn’t seem like he was setting up to tell Jaskier something that would hurt him. Quite the opposite actually. It didn’t mean Jaskier wasn’t any less scared. Because something was shifting between them, changing and morphing into a new beast. That precipice Jaskier was concerned about? They were about to fall over the edge, he could feel it.

Jaskier set his lute down beside the bed as Geralt paced over to the window, which had a view of the town square, where the festival was still hanging onto the last hours of the day.

Jaskier stepped towards him, tilting his head. “Geralt? What is it?”

Geralt folded his arms, as if he was hunching down, making himself smaller. “I...” He turned around, his eyes distant. “This has been a good trip, hasn’t it?”

Jaskier smiled, letting relief wash over him. Thank the gods. Nothing bad was happening. Geralt was insecure that was all. “The best, so far. It’s been good to explore places with you, especially without everyone trying to hire you to kill their monster of the week.” He moved towards him, smile firm. “What are you worried about?”

Geralt ducked his head and stepped away from the window, as if he was stepping away from Jaskier. He sat at the table, leaning upon it, rubbing his forehead.

When no answer came, Jaskier took matters into his own hands. “You were going to tell me something, not ask me. Are you scared of my reaction?”

Geralt’s head snapped up, his eyes locking with Jaskier’s. There was a beat of silence. “Yes.”

Jaskier slipped into the chair opposite him. “Why? It’s only me.”

“It’s because of you that makes me... scared.”

“Just... tell me.”

“This trip, Jaskier, has been–” Geralt seemed to lose his ability to speak as he began to gesture with his hands, as if he was trying to find the right word. “The moments, between us, have been some of the best in my life.”

Jaskier sucked in a breath. “We did almost die,” he murmured, trying to play it off as a joke, trying to digest the emotions in Geralt’s words. He couldn’t cope with it.

“And we healed...” Geralt closed his eyes, turning away. “I don’t know how to say the words, Jask.”

“What words?” He tried to catch Geralt’s line of sight, but his eyes were firmly shut. “I can’t help if you don’t say.”

“I– It’s not your help I need.”

“Then... what?”

Geralt looked to him now, his hands shakily resting upon the table. He sucked in a breath, two. There was nervousness there, fear like Jaskier had never seen. He was distant, but present. Terrified and yet determined to speak. Jaskier decided to wait, to stay quiet and let Geralt work through whatever was troubling him. He had to trust him, if he wanted to tell him, then he would.

A hardened sweetness resided in Geralt’s eyes as he gazed right into Jaskier’s. “I love you.”

Jaskier suddenly couldn’t _breathe_.

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time.” Geralt tapped his fingers off the table, staring down at them. “Longer than I ever realised. I couldn’t keep it in anymore, not with how overwhelming this trip has been.”

“You... love me, actually love me?”

Geralt glanced away, there was that fear again. “Yes.”

Jaskier huffed a laugh, which slowly evolved into deranged chuckling. Geralt shot him a worried look, vulnerable, but Jaskier couldn’t help it. Geralt was _in_ _love_ with him. That– That shook his entire world. He shut off his laughing with a gasp, letting the words really sink in. “I never... thought. I, Geralt, I’m in love with you too.”

Geralt looked like his heart was about to burst. “You are?”

“Did you listen to the lyrics of Her Sweet Kiss? I _am_ in love with you, have been since, well, since early on actually.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed. “I thought Her Sweet Kiss was about one of your lovers.”

Jaskier huffed a laugh. “No. No, it was about you, about how Yennefer was destroying us both. About how I’d follow you regardless because...” He gave a small smile. “I’m _weak_ , my love, and I wanting.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Since the beginning too?”

Jaskier fiddled with his fingers, twisting one of his rings around and around. “I fall in love easy, Geralt. Fall out of it easy too. But my love for you was stubborn and didn’t let go.”

“Not even when I... After the mountain?” Geralt frowned, eyes shining. Any sane person would have, and never would have let that person back in, but Jaskier had been in a unique situation.

“I couldn’t... It’s complicated.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I was... cursed.” Jaskier drew in a breath, sighing loudly. “A mage caught me with his wife, and he made sure if I ever had my heart broken, I wouldn’t be able to move on. I’d feel the heartbreak for the rest of my life.”

“Was?”

“Yennefer broke it, while I was under its effects.” He nearly choked on the feelings bubbling up. “On the mountain... Geralt, you broke my heart.”

Geralt closed his eyes, his face twisting in pain. “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I...”

“Even without it, I still would have loved you. My heart couldn’t let go even after the curse was broken.” Jaskier folded his hands together. “Although, that was probably the soul bond.”

Geralt laid his hand open halfway across the table. “Be with me, for as long as we have?”

Jaskier stared at Geralt’s offered hand, tears pricking at his eyes. “But if we love deep and true, and I live till I’m old, I won’t be who you fell in love with.”

“Just because you’ll wrinkle and grey, doesn’t mean your personality will change. I love you for you, Jaskier.”

“Are you sure?”

“With all my heart, yes.”

Jaskier gradually smiled, placing his hand in Geralt’s. He locked eyes with him, blue facing gold, both gleaming with hot tears. “I’ll be with you, for as long as we have.”

Geralt beamed, tears ran from his eyes, slow in their descent. “Can I kiss you?”

Jaskier grinned wetly, his own tears falling. “Yes.”

They both stood and Geralt pulled Jaskier close by their joined hands. He curled a hand at Jaskier’s waist, pressing their foreheads together. Jaskier reached up and cupped Geralt’s jaw, tilting his head ever so slightly. Their lips brushed together, and as they both smiled, they moved that inch closer, capturing one another’s lips. Jaskier’s eyes slipped shut, the soft touch of lips blew away a sad happiness, leaving only joy in its wake.

They swayed closer, the kiss lingering, the gentle press deepening as Geralt opened up to Jaskier’s wandering tongue. He kept it soft, slow, gently sucking to draw a breathless puff from Geralt. He smiled and broke the kiss, keeping his lips only a hair’s breadth away.

“Shall we take this further?” he asked.

Geralt’s eyes shifted from softness to... desire. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is. Is it what you want?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment, a pause, and then they were crashing back together. The tone had shifted, like someone had turned a soft melody into a jig. Jaskier smoothed his hands to Geralt’s back, pulling him in close as they let each other in, and Jaskier delighted in drawing a moan from Geralt as he sucked on his tongue. They moved, walking backwards, leaning into one another, mouths wanting, hands roaming. Jaskier groaned as he hit back against the wall, and Geralt nipped at his bottom lip, swiping his tongue over the spot.

He moved his hand upwards, curling around Geralt’s neck to keep him right where he was. Geralt continued his attack on his lips, and _gods_ , the way his lips moved against his own, the small nips, his warm tongue to soothe them. He arched off the wall as Geralt bit down a little more, whining with it, right into Geralt’s mouth. He realised, then, that Geralt was testing the waters, seeing what Jaskier liked, and _fuck_ , his responses must have told him all he needed to know.

Geralt pulled away, just a tad, but the space felt like an ocean. “You like that?” he whispered, his voice low, rough. “Nibbling? Biting?”

Jaskier pushed his hand into Geralt’s hair. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell you if it’s too much.” He searched Geralt’s eyes. “And what do you like? Your hair, do you like it when it’s touched during?”

“I like it pulled.”

A smirk crawled across his face, and Jaskier tilted his head, capturing Geralt’s lips. He licked into his mouth and with the hand that was already in his hair, he pulled, gently, but hard enough to have an effect. Geralt groaned and pushed into Jaskier, crowding him further against the wall. Now, _that_ , he hadn’t expected.

Geralt pulled back once again, kissing the corner of Jaskier’s mouth, along his jaw. Jaskier moaned with it, head lolling back against the wall, exposing more of his jaw and his neck to Geralt. He kissed right up to Jaskier’s ear, however, breathing hotly there.

“I like biting too. I like having someone take control, to take care of me.” He kissed Jaskier’s earlobe. “I want you to take care of me, Jaskier.”

Something shifted inside. He’d expected Geralt to be the one in control here, giving everything he knew about him. But… Well, Jaskier was very versatile and this, he knew very well, above all else when it came to making love. He reached for Geralt’s shoulders, gripping there. Looking into Geralt’s eyes, he saw the recognition he needed to see. In an instant, he had them spun around, with Geralt up against the wall and Jaskier pressing into him.

He licked up his neck, kissed a spot by his ear, whispering, “Darling, I can certainly take care of you. I’ll be delicately rough. Is that what you want?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Geralt breathed.

Jaskier pressed a kiss to Geralt’s jaw, smiling into his skin. “Then I’ll try to give you what you need.”

“And you?” Geralt murmured, smoothing his hands up Jaskier’s arms. He pulled back to look, at golden eyes consumed by wide pupils. “What is it that you need?”

Jaskier’s lips curled, smugly. He pulled Geralt into a kiss by the back of his neck, smiling into it. “My love,” he whispered into his mouth, “all I need is you.”

He left his lips to roam down to his neck, kissing spots as he went. The corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw, by his ear… and finally, his neck. He placed one hand firm on Geralt’s hip and wound the other into his hair. Geralt bared his neck for him and he wet his lips, ready to test and tease. He kissed a spot, mouthing at it, and Geralt’s hands curled at Jaskier’s back, nails ready to dig in.

Jaskier sucked at first, enjoying the way Geralt pressed up into him. His cock was hard, wanting, and Jaskier couldn’t wait until the main event, but for now, this was all that mattered. He bit down, and at the same time, he pulled at Geralt’s hair. A groan burst from Geralt, and he bucked his hips, his cock pushing against Jaskier’s leg. That was intriguing, and certainly got Jaskier curious. How much was too much, how much was too little?

He licked at the spot, soothing it, while Geralt sighed, one hand slipping from Jaskier’s back to press back against the wall. Moving to a new position at his neck, Jaskier bit down twice his hard and pulled on his hair just as much. Geralt arched up, his head rolling further back, his hand pushing against the wall. Jaskier moved his hand from Geralt’s hip to entwine with the one that was trying to merge with the wall.

“ _Oh_ , you really do like that,” Jaskier whispered against his skin, his voice going slightly rough. “Is this enough, or do you need harder?”

Geralt shook his head. “No, no, it’s enough.”

Jaskier gave a nod and kissed lovingly at the two spots. “Noted.”

He worked his way back up to Geralt’s lips, pecking. Geralt chased after him, and he let his hand fall from his hair to cup at his jaw. Their hands stayed intwined at the wall, but Geralt drew Jaskier in with the hand on his back. Breathless moans were shared between them as Geralt dove into Jaskier’s mouth, as Jaskier nipped at Geralt’s lips, as tongues curled around teeth, as, as… Jaskier got a little lost in it, in the trades of kisses, of nibbling and sucking. Of the groans that escaped them, only to be caught by the other’s open mouth.

“Jask–” Geralt rasped, withdrawing back. “Bed.”

Jaskier considered their current situation. They were both hard, almost painfully so, the bed was a far distance away, and they needed _oil_. Both of which required parting with Geralt for too long. So, he grabbed Geralt, whirling him away from the wall, kissing him intently as he walked him backwards, towards the bed they so dearly needed. He pulled at Geralt’s shirt, tugging at the hem, trying his best not to part far from his lips.

He shucked it up, and Geralt lifted his arms, allowing Jaskier to pull it up over his head and return to his lips before too many seconds ticked on. Geralt pushed his fingers towards the arms of Jaskier’s doublet, pushing at them, and Jaskier let him shove the thing off, until it was lying in a heap on the ground. They kissed still, walking, too focused on each other to pay attention to their environment, until Geralt went crashing into the bedside table.

Jaskier pulled away with a laugh bursting from him. Geralt frowned, staring at the table like it had offended him. Shaking his head, Jaskier managed to get himself under control before he let his giggling get away from him. Geralt had begun to chuckle, bright and cheery, but that was cut short as Jaskier palmed at the front of his trousers, at his cock.

They were brought right back to the moment within a second, and Jaskier grinned, glad for the effect he had on Geralt. He moved his fingers to tug at the waistband, locking eyes with Geralt, so he knew, knew that the main event was coming, barrelling towards them.

“Get these off. I’ll get the oil.”

Geralt smirked. “What’s the oil?”

Jaskier brushed his fingers through Geralt’s chest hair. And, _by the gods_ , he couldn’t wait to explore his chest. “Thickened olive oil, with a honey scent to it.”

“Like our soap.”

“Yeah, like our soap.” He kissed Geralt, a little sweeter than the ones they had been trading. “Trousers, off.”

As he went off to retrieve the large vial of oil, he kept an eye on Geralt. At the way he unbuttoned his trousers, fingers sensually pulling them undone. The way he shoved them down, slowly pushing them past his thighs and calves. He kicked his boots off right as he rid himself of them. Jaskier couldn’t breathe for a moment, truly seeing Geralt in this setting did _wonderful_ things to him. Because this was so much different than seeing him during bath nights.

He grabbed the oil as Geralt lay back on the bed, and tossed it over, licking his lips as Geralt snatched it out of the air. He kicked his own boots off, throwing his trousers off him, and practically teared his chemise from his body. He stalked up to the bed, naked as anything, admiring Geralt’s _oh so delightful_ body. His thick cock, his muscled chest, his perfect face. Gods, Jaskier couldn’t wait to be one with him, to make love to him.

He climbed onto the bed, settling between Geralt’s legs. He took the oil from him, casting it aside for now. He was going to have a little fun first. He ran his finger down Geralt’s chest, stopping right where the head of Geralt’s cock lay.

“How much do you like biting, darling?” He tapped his collarbone. “Would you like it here?”

“Yes.”

“And here?” he asked, spreading his fingers across Geralt’s strong pectoral muscles.

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes.”

He tapped at his stomach, his abs. “And what about here?”

“ _Yes_.”

Jaskier smoothed his hands down either side of Geralt, past his hips, to his thighs. He tapped the inside of one. “Here too?”

“Yes, Jaskier, _please_.”

Jaskier smiled and shifted, leaning down to drag his lips across Geralt’s left thigh. “I can’t do all my suggestions tonight, I wouldn’t last as long as I’d like to if I did. But how does here and your stomach sound?”

Geralt gave out a small moan. “ _Perfect_.”

Jaskier mouthed at Geralt’s thigh, searching out the perfect place. He crept further up, finding a spot that looked rather enticing. He licked at it, sucking it roughly as he gently stroked the other side of the thigh, other hand working up to brush through his chest hair. He bit down and ever so gently pulled at the short hair. The most delicious groan burst from Geralt, devolving into a long and strangled moan. Jaskier petted his chest hair as he licked at the spot, leaving it at that.

The sounds coming from Geralt were almost too much, almost enough to bring him to the edge if he let it. But he wouldn’t, he knew how to control himself better than that.

Choosing the stomach for his second choice had been strategic. He wrapped his hand in Geralt’s hair, locking eyes with him for a moment, and Geralt looked so blissed out, it was _wonderful_. He leaned down, sucking at a spot that was only inches from Geralt’s cock, and he was gifted with a whine. And that told him enough, told him that Geralt would like his cock sucked.

He pulled at his hair as he gently bit down, smirking as Geralt’s back very briefly left the bed. And because he could, he moved to nuzzle at his cock, licking up it. A long slack moan followed and Jaskier groaned, closing his eyes. Geralt sounded _like a dream_.

Suddenly, though, Geralt was pulling Jaskier into a searing yet messy kiss. Their lips slid into place easily, fitting like a lock. He kissed deep and true, like he’d been desperate, probably had been with Jaskier’s slow pace.

Geralt broke the kiss quickly, breathing in and out, staring at Jaskier, pupils blown completely wide now. “Fuck me.”

Jaskier kissed his lips sweetly. “Want me to stop teasing?”

“ _Please_.” He palmed at Jaskier’s chest. “Need you.”

“You’ll have me.” He smiled and dove for the oil, holding it up. “Ready?”

“Yes, please, just–”

Jaskier silenced him by kissing the head of his cock. Geralt seemed to roll his eyes but the pleased gasp that came from his throat went against that. He coated his fingers lavishly, rubbing his finger at Geralt’s hole. This was the last chance, and he needed one more confirmation before he did so. He locked eyes with him, staring, and Geralt seemed to understand, nodding him on.

That was all he needed. He pushed his finger in, curling and goading, till he was right up to the knuckle. He leant down licking at Geralt’s cock as he pushed his finger in and out, so glad for how easy the oil made it, almost effortless, even with all the mess it made. He gazed at Geralt, who was slowly beginning to whine out his moans. Jaskier knew he wanted, but impatience would only hurt him, and he couldn’t allow that.

When he felt that Geralt was ready, he added a second finger, sucking at the tip of his cock as he did so. Geralt threw his head back, groaning, and Jaskier moaned at the sight. He curled his fingers, stretching them out, taking his time with it. He knew he’d brushed at the good spot when Geralt groaned, loud.

Jaskier added more oil to the mix as he added the third finger in. He pushed in deep, finding that right spot and teasing at it, brushing it again and again until Geralt was writhing under him, groaning out and rocking his hips. It was glorious, to see Geralt fall apart from his fingers alone. He knew he was getting close to that point, and Jaskier waited for it. Waited for him to tell him, because only _he_ really knew.

For a moment Jaskier considered adding a fourth finger at Geralt’s lack of communication, but then…

“Gods, _Jask_. I’m ready, I’m ready.”

Jaskier gave one last push in and deemed him to be correct. He grabbed the oil and slicked up his cock with a thick and lavish coating of oil. A second later, he was pushing in, watching Geralt carefully as he slowly closed his eyes. Jaskier moved slow, till his hips were flush with Geralt’s arse. It felt–

It _felt_. Words had escaped him, simply overwhelmed at the feeling of being inside Geralt, able to take care of him, to set a pace, to listen to what he needed. He moaned at the prospect, so ready, and yet… He wanted to make it last, but he wasn’t sure how long he could.

Then, Geralt whined and rocked his hips. “ _Move_.”

Jaskier sighed out, trying to get his mind to kick back into action. “Pace?”

Geralt’s eyes burned into his own. “Hard and fast.”

Well, _he could certainly do that._ He pulled back, almost slipping out, only to slam back in, rejoicing at the sound of a guttural groan punching from Geralt. The sounds that filled the room were _divine_. Just him and Geralt, as one, moving together as Geralt matched Jaskier’s pace. As if they knew what the other would do. It was a moment he’d been waiting years for. It was engulfing, it was perfect. It was too much and not enough. He could do this for the rest of his life and never grow bored, he was sure.

The soul bond was involved somewhere along the line too. He could feel a part of himself constrict and coil, as if the bond was tightening its hold on them, as if this was making it stronger, making it settle in a way it hadn’t before.

Jaskier slammed into Geralt relentlessly, and a tumble of yes’s came from Geralt as their pace continued, hard and fast, just like he wanted, _needed_. Jaskier made sure in his brutal pace to hit the one spot that really mattered, and Geralt was gone with it, and so was he himself, if he was being honest. His mind was drifting as he let himself be consumed by it.

He wound his hand in Geralt’s hair, wondering with the small part of his mind that was left… He tugged, not as hard as before, but still enough for it to be _felt_. And Geralt gasped, it quickly turning into a strangled moan.

“ _Jask_ , do it again, I’m so _close_.”

Jaskier prepared himself, allowing himself to feel how close he really was too. And he pulled, and– The world left him for a moment as he spilled into Geralt, filling him up. And Geralt spurted white stripes upon his stomach, jaw going slack, hips shuddering. Jaskier pulled out, collapsing down beside Geralt, breathing hard. He could barely think, he felt as if his own airways were being cut off. But, no, he was fine. The world just wobbled for a bit.

Gods. _Gods_.

It had been something else, something he hadn’t experienced before. So intense, so _much_. And… that was the soul bond. For once, he was more than glad to have it, just for that wonderful climax alone.

As he slowly regained his ability to truly _think_ , he turned his head, gazing at Geralt as he watched his chest rise and fall. His breathing had calmed too, which was good.

“That was…” he murmured.

Geralt sighed out, a smile appearing upon his lips. “Divine.”

“Yeah… yeah it was.” Even Jaskier, in his blissed out state, couldn’t have come up with a word like that.

He reached for one of the spare blankets that had been pushed to the bottom of the bed. Using that, he cleaned up the majority of their mess. Cleaning the mess off Geralt’s stomach first, then the mess by his arse, trying his best to mop up most of the oil and come. He didn’t do a great job, due to a lack of water, but it got rid of the worst.

“Thank you,” Geralt whispered.

Jaskier smiled and threw a different blanket over them, curling up against Geralt’s side, wrapping an arm around him. “Sleep now, my love.”

Geralt closed his eyes and the softest smile graced his lips. He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders. “Rest well, Jask.”

He was sure he’d never fallen asleep as quickly as he did that night.

\--

Jaskier awoke to a soft light casting itself onto the bed. The morning had come and for once, it hadn’t violently woken him with harsh light. No, this was very gentle, as if it knew love had been shared and made in this room, as if it had to be treasured with a light untouched by the harshness of the sky.

At some point, Jaskier had rolled onto his back, and Geralt had curled around him. Knee touching Jaskier’s, arm thrown over his stomach, and forehead resting at his shoulder. He smiled, sighing out. The sex had been wonderful, no doubt about that, but knowing the truth of Geralt’s feelings meant all the more. All those years of thinking it was unrequited love, even thinking that on this trip, only to lead to an admission of love. And that it had come from Geralt first had been fundamental.

He shifted in Geralt’s hold, turning on his side to drink the sight of him in. He looked ever so peaceful sleeping, untouched by the day. His hair was a mess and needed a right good comb through, but even then, it was beautiful. _He_ was beautiful.

He didn’t know how long he gazed at him for, but when Geralt’s eyes fluttered open, his chest constricted. The morning after had always been a strange beast, but Geralt did nothing but smile, as his eyes set on Jaskier. All brief worry drained from him, and he knew that they’d be waking up like this for decades to come.

Jaskier brushed his hand into Geralt’s hair. He loved the feeling of it in his fingers. “Morning.”

Geralt smiled lazily at him, sleep still clear in his features. “Morning.”

“You’re beautiful...”

“As are you.”

Jaskier smiled, leaning over to peck Geralt softly on the lips. Geralt placed a hand at his hip, keeping him there as they traded small kisses. A perfect start to the morning, where love bloomed in his chest, so bright and all consuming. Jaskier almost didn’t want to pull back, but he did.

He gazed for a moment, getting lost in the gold of Geralt’s eyes. “Shall we head back up north today?”

Geralt hummed, opening his eyes wider, as if he was waking up more. “It’s probably best. We should head straight back to the first town. The beach there was beautiful.”

Jaskier beamed. “That is a wonderful idea. I can’t wait.”

“You can finish your song now too…”

“You were scared that I’d find romance with another.” Jaskier cupped Geralt’s cheek, stroking his thumb across his cheekbone. Geralt hummed, leaning into it. “When all I wanted was you. And now I have a story. Of a love shared on a trip so sacred.”

Geralt gazed at Jaskier, a smile pulling at his lips. “Ever the poet.”

“That’s what I am. A poet, a romantic.”

“And you’re perfect in your absurd way.”

Jaskier chuckled, tapping Geralt’s cheek in a warning. “Now, now, there’s nothing absurd about me.”

Geralt furrowed his brow slightly, his eyes darting back and forth. “Some of the first words you said to me were that I couldn’t let a man with bread in his pants wait.”

“O _kay_ , I’ll give you that one.” He chuckled, recalling all the things he’d said that day. He had been completely taken, whisked up by… well destiny probably, by the bond, but by his own capacity to become infatuated at first sight. He’d flirted, or more tried to, and then… The rest was history, as they said.

Geralt smiled, soft and small. “I love you.”

Jaskier moved his hand from his cheek to his hair, settling within the strands. “And I love you.”

Geralt turned his head to kiss the inside of Jaskier’s wrist, beaming against it. Jaskier sighed with peace, so glad for this, to have this, to be able to touch in all the ways he wanted. It meant the world, meant everything. And his heart was so full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finalllly did it, they finally told each other the truth!!! It only took eight chapters to do it :P


	9. A Lord's Party

Everything was going fine as they headed back up to the first beach, right up until Daisy caught herself on a rock. She was fine, didn’t even trip, but the rough bounce made one of the saddle straps snap, and if it hadn’t been for Geralt reaching out and catching Jaskier by his doublet, he would have smacked face first into the ground.

So, that was why they’d headed inland, to the town Metinna.

It had been a long while since Jaskier had been here, five years if he was thinking correctly. He just hadn’t had a reason to circle back. Had been too busy exploring other places. But he did like this town, it was full of people with deep pockets, lords, nobles and the like. They gravitated here due to its warmth, vast trade, and proximity to the coast.

They swiftly located a stable and got Daisy and Roach settled before entering the shop of the first leather worker they found. Jaskier knew what kind of saddle he was looking for. Shiny and brown, to match well with Daisy’s black and white coat. Once he located the kind of saddle he wanted, he happily paid for it (with only a little haggling).

They were back at the stable soon enough, and Jaskier made quick work of getting the saddle on Daisy. Ensuring she was comfortable, that it wasn’t too tight, but that it wouldn’t slide around either.

Geralt peered into one of their bags. “We’re running low on apples.”

Jaskier gave Daisy a good pat on the neck for being good. “Let’s get some then. I think they’d eat us if we didn’t get their treats.”

“Hm. Roach would definitely eat you.”

Jaskier gasped. “And why, pray tell, would she eat me over you?”

“You’re softer than me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, frankly–” Daisy butted him in the head. “Ay, girl, what was that for?” He turned to her with a frown.

“She’s telling you I’m right.” Geralt grinned, swinging the bag onto his back. “Come on, sooner we get the apples, sooner we can get on the road.”

Jaskier stepped towards Geralt, reaching out, placing his palms against his chest. He gazed into his eyes, smiling. “I can’t wait to be on that beach with you again.”

“I feel the same.” Geralt leaned in, pecking Jaskier on the lips. “Come on.”

They headed to the fruit stall they’d passed by, which had more apples than anyone would ever need to buy. But it was important to merchants to have plenty of stock, and apples did tend to be popular.

Geralt approached the stall and Jaskier left him to it, leaving a lingering touch upon his arm. He ventured across the street to look at a stall with a range of blankets and scarves hanging down from the supporting beams. They were made of a fine material. With ones that were fluffy, looking warm, and others that were silky, luxury items.

“That’s _ridiculous_ ,” Geralt’s voice boomed.

Jaskier turned and watched as Geralt stared the merchant down. He laughed as the merchant lowered his high prices to something reasonable that Geralt seemed to appreciate. He liked watching him haggle, because he used his vast knowledge of the wares of the Continent _and_ his scary face.

They seemed to be coming to a price that suited them both, although, Jaskier could have been misinterpreting the situation.

“I see you found him,” a voice said and Jaskier furrowed his brow. Why did it sound so familiar?

He turned to see the man from the tavern all those years ago standing beside him. “I did.”

“You told him then.”

“Yes. We... we’re partners, if you’ll believe it.”

The man beamed at him, placing his hands in his pockets. “Oh, I believe you. I can see it, the way you look at him. There’s no hopeful longing.” He tilted his head. “Say, did you ever find out if that figure was him?”

“No, I’d forgotten...”

“I would wager it was him.” The man nodded to himself. “Yes, definitely.” He stepped in front of Jaskier. “We never got properly introduced.” He offered his hand. “I’m Lord Ambert.”

Jaskier shook his hand, his eyes widening as the words sunk in. “You’re the lord who stole Viscount Daith’s heart...!”

“I am.”

He narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s why you told me I had a chance, because the impossible happened to you. Daith was to be wed, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, and I told him the truth. Now we’re known as the best lords Metinna has to offer.”

“Well, colour me surprised.”

Ambert grinned. “Now you have your love, and you’re back, I may as well tell you that I have a party going on tonight. A banquet if you will. There will be music and dancing, food and wine. Perfect for a man of finer things such as yourself. Bring your witcher along, I would love to see how you are as a couple.”

“I will.” Jaskier smiled. “I’d never say no to a party.”

“Good then. My house is the largest in town, looks a bit like a castle. You can’t miss it.” Ambert gave a curt nod and left, with a skip in his walk. Jaskier watched him go with a furrowed brow, that man only confused him more now that he’d met him again.

“Who was that?” Geralt asked, basket of apples in hand.

“Lord Ambert. I met him, years ago. He’s invited us to his party.”

“Jaskier–”

“No ifs or buts, Geralt. We’re going. When Ambert spoke to me, years back, his words stayed with me for weeks, and they made me realise the curse was active.”

“Oh...”

“He’s a curious man.” Jaskier twisted his mouth. “Said he could smell pure love on me.”

Geralt opened and closed his mouth several times. “Few creatures can do that... Elves can, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Jaskier looked down the road, seeing Ambert disappearing in the distance. “Huh... A glamour?”

“Could be part elf.”

“Hmmm, maybe.”

“Let’s get these to Daisy and Roach, and then you can dress me up as a sad silk trader.”

Jaskier barked a laugh. He still couldn’t believe Mousesack had dared to say that about such a lovely outfit. “You looked incredibly breath-taking in that outfit, Geralt. Don’t pretend I’m wrong.”

Geralt grinned, hair falling in his face as he shook his head. “You wanted to make me look good?”

Jaskier hooked an arm around Geralt’s. “Precisely, you deserve to look pretty in expensive outfits.”

“Hm, do I now?”

“Yes, you do, stop fighting against the truth.” Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder as they walked. “This trip should have taught you that you don’t have to look like an intimidating witcher all the time.”

“I was never intimidating to you.”

Jaskier smiled, thinking back to that first day. “No, but I saw a gorgeous man in the corner that I hoped to bag for the night. Instead, I got something much better.”

“What...?” Geralt whispered, so quiet, so gentle. There was curiosity, and there was insecurity too.

“A friend, an everlasting bond, not just because of our actual bond either. And now, you’re my partner, and I’ve never been happier.”

Geralt kissed the top of his head. “I’m happy too, very happy.”

Jaskier grinned. “Good.” He straightened up as they approached the stables. “As soon as we feed them some of the apples, I’m dragging you straight to that seamstresses I saw.”

“Alright,” Geralt said with a chuckle. “Will we rent a room to change in?”

“Yes, let’s.”

\--

“Wow,” Jaskier uttered, breath leaving him, his eyes bright. “You look...”

He looked unbelievable. In a deep red doublet, with his leather trousers that would make anyone with eyes faint, and a beautiful undershirt. Not as nice as one of Jaskier’s chemises, oh no, but the deep dark blue of it really finished off the look.

“You look amazing, dear.”

“So do you,” Geralt murmured, gesturing to Jaskier’s get up. A deep purple doublet (buttoned, for once), with matching trousers and his best boots. Underneath, he had a black lacy chemise on. Perhaps Geralt would get up and personal with it later.

Jaskier offered his hand. “Are you ready? I’ve heard Lord Ambert’s parties can be rather lively.”

Geralt put his hand in Jaskier’s. “As long as you don’t leave me alone, I’ll be fine.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone at a party.” He tugged them towards the door. “Besides, I have a grand plan.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “What is this plan?”

Jaskier smirked, leaning close. “You’ll find out.”

They made their way to the only house in town that had walls as high as a castle would, with battlements atop the main building’s roof. It even had a tower to the side. It was rather magnificent and completely over the top. Suiting for Lord Ambert.

Inside was no different. The main hall was filled to the brim with candles to provide the upmost amount of light. There was a rather large chandelier too. Many others were filtering in, and they followed them through to a large hall. Not as big as some of the royal courts he’d been in, but it could rival others. An even bigger chandelier was in here, and Jaskier pitied the poor staff member who had to light all the candles.

There was a band at the other side of the room, already providing the people with good music. A piece to lighten up the mood, get people going, to show them what to expect for the night. He peered at them, and decided the red-haired man and blonde-haired woman were likely the singers of the group. They just had that _look_ about them. And he should know.

A servant came rushing by with drinks on a tray, handing them out to anyone who wanted one. Jaskier managed to grab some wine, and Geralt got some ale.

They walked slowly up the hall, finding a table to sit at. Others sat there too, but they weren’t too rambunctious. Yet. So, they sat at the top, able to make a quick getaway if they had to.

“Jaskier! Geralt! Welcome,” Ambert boomed. At his side was Daith. They were both finely dressed, in some expensive clothing, and Jaskier expected no less. He knew the story, and it did not disappoint, they did look like they fit together, like they were meant to be. “How are you enjoying the music?”

“It’s... good,” Geralt murmured, taking a drink.

Jaskier smiled. “I’m impressed at their breath control, if I’m being honest. Never seen a band pelt out ‘To the End of All’ like that before. Usually the wind instrument players and the singers need to, you know, breathe. But not this band.”

Ambert gleamed. “Yes, they are my favourite musicians. Cost a bit of coin too. Although, they are not lyricists. They play songs that aren’t their own, but they’re good at that. It’s almost a shame.”

Jaskier shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. “Anyone can write if they learn to.”

“Quite right! And I’ve told them that, but it’s not their style you see.”

“I see. It’s not everyone’s desire to write, just to play and sing.” Jaskier put a hand to his chest. “But I’m very much a musical poet, I can’t help but write, play, _and_ sing.”

“Indeed.”

Daith tilted his head. “Then again, to truly sing, don’t you have to speak from the heart?”

Jaskier smiled at Daith. Now, _he_ was a man who knew things. “Singing requires emotion, it can come from your own heart, but it doesn’t have to be your story or true to get that emotion across. It helps if it is, your own story that is, but it’s not necessary.”

“Like one of your most famous songs, Her Sweet Kiss, isn’t about you?”

Jaskier coughed, running his fingers over his lips. “Heh, well, actually, I spread that lie on purpose. It _was_ about me. About my jealously.”

Ambert lit up. “See! I told you, I said I was there, but _oh_ _no_ , you didn’t believe me. Only believed the rumours Jaskier deliberately spread around.” 

“Well, I never thought you _had_ talked to him,” Daith half hissed, exasperated. “I thought you’d made it up.”

“And here Jaskier is now, to tell you that I _was_ telling the truth.”

Jaskier barked a laugh. “Why didn’t you believe him, Daith?”

“Because he tells stories that aren’t true to make the world a little more romantic. I didn’t think your story would have been one of the true ones.” Daith shrugged. “I thought you’d be too fleeting for a jealous heartbreak song. That’s why I assumed the rumours were true.”

“I did used to be fleeting with people before I met Geralt.” He smiled at him, noting that he’d been quietly watching the conversation. His eyes met his own, and he beamed at him. “And then I discovered true love.”

“I’ll always be glad that you stuck with me,” Geralt said, quietly, as if he only meant for Jaskier to hear.

“Me too.”

Daith appeared to fawn over them. “Oh, Ambert, the world _can_ be romantic.”

Ambert chuckled softly, clasping a hand around Daith’s upper arm. “I told you, my darling, but you simply wanted to believe in the heartbreak of the world.”

“The world _is_ too often heart-breaking.”

Jaskier swirled his finger around the rim of his cup. “It’s natural, when so many emotions reside in our minds, to break hearts, to have our hearts broken.” He smiled at Geralt. “But then, our hearts can mend, and love will continue on.”

“Stop being such a _bard_ ,” Geralt murmured into his ale.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. He had a feeling that even with all that had changed, some things would always stay the same. “You love it.”

He slowly grinned, taking a long glug before setting his cup down. “I do.”

Daith lit up, whacking Ambert’s chest. “They’re almost as in love as we are!”

Ambert chuckled, curling his arm around Daith’s waist. “They are.” His eyes darted between them. “Do you dance?”

Geralt snorted and Jaskier leant his head on his hand, staring at him. The idea was absurd and yet… Well, if Geralt was willing he wouldn’t mind it. Not at all. Because there was nothing more romantic in the world than spinning your partner around the floor as a good ol’ jig played. Or perhaps a slower melody, to sway and pull close, _that_ was possibly even more romantic.

“I’ve _danced_ ,” Jaskier said, sitting back. “But I don’t think I could ever persuade Geralt to.”

Geralt looked towards the empty space of the hall, where people were already spinning each other around. “I don’t know how.”

Ambert bounced on his feet. “Well, it’s easy. Jaskier, you could take the lead and show your witcher how it is done!”

Jaskier stroked his chin, staring at Geralt. “We could…”

“I’m not built for such a delicate exercise.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. You’d enjoy it.”

Geralt gave him a withering stare. “Would I?”

“ _Yes_!” Jaskier exclaimed, exasperated. This would take some convincing.

Daith shot them a curious look, quickly turning to Ambert. “Let’s show them how it’s done, shall we?”

Ambert nodded, extending his hand to Daith. “Lead the way, darling.”

Daith guided Ambert to an open space of their own, and from the way he settled his hands at Ambert’s waist, he was going to lead too. He spun them around as they bounced to the music. Jaskier watched their footwork carefully, and knew that the lord and viscount had once endured the same lessons he’d hated when young, when he learnt the ways of court. The jig was fast and so were they. With Daith casting Ambert away in a spin, their joined hands keeping them together as they danced in a circle, hopping up and down.

The smiles plastered upon their faces told of the joy from the dance alone, from being able to dance together.

Jaskier glugged his wine down and stood, offering his hand to Geralt. “It’s not hard.”

Geralt stared at his hand. “I think I’m too sober for this.”

“ _Oh_ , stop with your protesting, at least give it a try.” Jaskier pouted. “For me?”

Geralt _tried_ to stare him down but Jaskier persisted. “ _Fine._ ”

“You won’t regret it.”

“I better not.” He stood and put his hand in Jaskier’s. “Don’t embarrass me.”

“What’s a bit of embarrassment when we’ll be having fun?”

“Is it fun?”

Jaskier grinned as he led Geralt to a suitable space, whirling around and placing his hand at his waist. “More fun than you can ever imagine, my dear.”

Geralt huffed. “If it’s so fun, why isn’t everyone doing it?” He gestured to the hordes of people picking at the food and drinking at the vast amount of tables.

Jaskier laughed. “Oh, that’s because they don’t have the _balls_.” He held on tight, and swung Geralt around, keeping him steady with the hand at his waist.

“ _Hey_.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows. “You agreed to this.” Now, they were moving, gliding in circles around their space, with Jaskier controlling it. Yes, Geralt’s movements were stilted, but not for long, if Jaskier had anything to do with it. And he did.

“I’m regretting that,” Geralt grit out, bitter. But he wasn’t easily fooled, there was a slight smile to his lips.

“Hm, I don’t think you are.” Jaskier only gave a warning of squeezing Geralt’s hip, before he spun them around and pushed Geralt away in a twirl, using their joined hands to continue their circles. Geralt followed along, albeit with sloppy footwork.

But that was okay, they had plenty of time to practice.

Geralt got with the picture quickly as they kept changing hands to dance in a more traditional way – the way you would in a group dance. Jaskier kept one hand behind his back and Geralt – eventually – did the same.

“Is that a smile I see?” Jaskier said with a smirk as he roped Geralt back in so they could sweep across the floor, practically bouncing along.

Geralt’s smile faltered, as if he realised what his face was doing. “No.”

“It _is_!” Jaskier spun them in a circle, gleaming. The music was beginning to die down, the last notes of the song ringing out. “You’re _enjoying_ this.”

“I…”

Jaskier calmed their movements, letting them glide without so much hopping or skipping. “Yes?”

“I am.” Geralt smiled, despite him almost spitting out the words. He’d been in denial, but the dancing had softened him, allowing him to admit the truth.

“Good.”

“A slow one next, if you will!” Ambert shouted out.

The band nodded and seemed to quickly agree on what they were going to play. A calm tune suddenly burst to life, and Jaskier pulled Geralt in, holding their joined hands in more of a lax way. One of the singers that Jaskier had spotted stepped forward, the woman. Her angelic voice filled the hall with elongated aahs. With her voice and the flutes harmonising, it created an almost magical piece. One he hadn’t heard of before. Not in this way anyhow.

They swayed together, moving gently in their space, but not straying too far. Jaskier noted the smile upon Geralt’s lips and at his eyes. He gazed lovingly at Jaskier now they were moving slow, their body’s close, his hand warm where it rested at Jaskier’s back. They slowly shifted their clasped hands, allowing their fingers to entwine, as they stepped back and forth on their spot. It was slow and gradual, and Jaskier let the music sink into his skin, moving closer, just so he could see Geralt, and nothing else.

“I love you,” he whispered, gazing into those beautiful golden eyes.

Geralt smiled, wide and bright and true. He tipped his head forward, brushing their lips together. “I love you too.”

Jaskier tilted his head, capturing those luscious lips in a sweet kiss that felt so _right_ , and the music calmed. The voice could be heard above all else, ooo-ing now. The sweet sound of a lira could still be heard, and it harmonised _beautifully_. When he pulled back, he couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his lips. And Geralt gazed at him, his eyes seeming to drink him in.

“I never want this music to stop, nor do I want you to stop looking at me like that.” Jaskier reached up and tucked Geralt’s stray strands of hair behind his ear, brushing his fingers down it.

“Nor do I want to stop looking at you.”

The smile spread even further. “Romantic.”

Geralt softly hummed. “I try.”

“Yeah… you do, and you succeed.” He lit up. “My dearest friend,” He rested his forehead upon Geralt’s, “my love.”

Geralt kissed him, and it was sweeter and brighter than the last. It was full of so many words and emotions already said, and yet to have been as well. They stopped swaying and Jaskier moved his hands to cup Geralt’s face, just on the edge of deepening the kiss. They were, after all, in public. Geralt settled his hands on Jaskier’s hips and they traded kisses until the music came to a stop, the angelic voice fading away from the hall’s walls.

And then a jig kicked back up and they were pulling apart, grinning.

“We can stop dancing if you’d like?” Jaskier suggested, entwining their hands once again.

Geralt nodded. “Yeah. We can dance more later, when I’ve had more ale.”

Jaskier felt as if stars were in his eyes. He huffed a laugh, looking down. “That sounds nice.”

“I enjoyed it.”

“Good, it’s to be enjoyed!”

Geralt chuckled, cupping Jaskier’s cheek. “You can teach me it all.”

Jaskier covered his hand with his own. “I will, if you’re willing.”

“I am.”

They beamed at each other. It felt as if things were truly falling into place in their relationship, finding that balance they so dearly needed. They grabbed more drinks and headed back to where they sat before, sitting opposite each other. The others who were at the table gave them knowing looks and nodded to them, but otherwise left them alone.

Jaskier picked at some of the food, sipping on his wine. “I’m glad you danced with me.”

Geralt’s lips quirked. “What pleases you, pleases me.”

 _‘Do what pleases you, while you can’_. The memory nearly choked Jaskier of all air. He breathed in roughly, rubbing his throat as if he’d just been stabbed there. _Fuck_ … He didn’t expect to be reminded of the mountain so suddenly, without any warning. Of the moment he’d asked to go to the coast… The last memory of before, before he had his heart broken.

It was mended now, but Geralt’s words had sent him right back, and it had knocked him sideways.

Geralt moved beside him, his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, on his stomach. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know saying it in that way would do that to you…”

Jaskier closed his eyes, letting Geralt’s touch ground him. “It was sudden, that’s all. I hadn’t thought about it for a long while.”

Geralt pulled him into a hug. “Still, I’m sorry.”

Jaskier hugged him back, tight as anything. “Don’t worry about it, Geralt. It’s alright.”

“Okay…” He withdrew a little, hands still on Jaskier’s shoulders. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Jaskier smiled at him. “I’m fine. Just took the wind out of me.”

Geralt nodded, eyes slightly guilty.

“Well! Didn’t you two steal the party!” Ambert exclaimed, coming out of nowhere, with Daith at his side. They were certainly joined at the hip. “I’ve never seen someone so clueless about dancing make it look so effortless before.”

Daith grinned at Geralt. “Perhaps witchers have an affinity for it.”

“ _Or_ ,” Jaskier cut in, “he just had an incredible mentor.”

“That too, I suppose.”

Geralt shook his head, seemingly amused. “I would wager that because Jaskier has my heart and soul, he was able to teach me far faster than what would usually be possible.”

Jaskier paused for a moment, really taking that in. He curled an arm around Geralt’s shoulders, smiling at him. “You’re being awfully romantic tonight.”

Geralt gazed at him for a moment. “You put me in a romantic mood.”

“ _Well_ , isn’t this delightful?” Ambert murmured. “Come on, Daith. Let’s leave these lovebirds be and entertain our other guests.” He leaned towards them. “Have the most wonderful night. You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier said quietly. And then Ambert and Daith were gone, as if they were constantly in a hurry. He looked to Geralt, grasping his hand, holding loosely. “Shall we then, have the most wonderful night?”

Geralt kissed him on the cheek. “We shall.”

They ate and drank, smiled and laughed. They leant on each other as Jaskier heaved in breaths, because of Geralt being his sarcastic witty self with the other guests. Geralt laughed so many times, Jaskier lost count, simply enjoying the sound instead. The most beautiful and perfect sound of his love having fun and enjoying himself. Even though this entire holiday had been filled with joy and Geralt’s laughter, this night had condensed it down to make it clearer.

More often than not during the night, they were touching each other. A small brush of the fingers. Holding hands. Hands on their waists, hands at shoulders, hands in their hair. And they danced again, more than once. To jigs, to slower pieces. The romance and joy that surrounded them only grew as the night went on. And Jaskier was falling more deeply in love with every second that passed.

It was like he couldn’t stop falling for Geralt. That it was a bottomless descent. And he could never reach the bottom because there was no point in which his love stopped, or his capacity to love. And Geralt was looking at him, with soft eyes, with his hands near, with him being close. And he was at his side through it all (even when some lord made vengeful eyes at him – Geralt had stuck very close then).

There was something, maybe the bond, that tightened, and pulled them in closer. Maybe it was destiny deciding this was enough, that what they shared had reached the point that was required for the bond to settle. Or something as equally as sweet as that. It felt _fundamental_. With each look shared, with each touch that lingered or stayed.

They were in love, very in love, and everyone in that hall knew it. Knew that the White Wolf and his bard, that Jaskier and his witcher, were together in the best way, in the completely in love way. Word would spread from here, until everyone in the Continent knew their love.

Stories would be told, and songs would surely be born of it.

But it didn’t matter how many people knew, or what they thought. 

All that mattered was the love they held for one another. How deeply they felt.

As the party came to an end in the early hours of the morning, they made their way back to the tavern with a stumble in their step. Jaskier’s doublet was half unbuttoned, and Geralt’s hair was a mess, coming out in places. And they walked hand in hand, smiling like they meant the world to each other.

Geralt certainly meant the world to Jaskier. And he was sure, more than he was about anything, that Geralt felt the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter left to go after this, which will be posted tomorrow!!  
> Really hope you guys are continuing to enjoy this story!!   
> Leave a comment if ya fancy saying what you think :D :)!!!


	10. New Normal

“Come on, you snail!” Jaskier shouted, throwing a look over his shoulder as Geralt was no more than a yard away from him.

Roach snorted.

“Why don’t you slow down?!” Geralt half shouted.

Jaskier laughed and pulled Daisy back a bit. She seemed happy once she was back to Roach’s speed. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“Almost there.”

“We are.”

Jaskier grinned, looking ahead, the edge of the town was just coming into view. “It’s suiting, to come back to the start now that we’re together.”

Geralt threw a soft look towards him. “I can hold your hand while paddling. I’d wanted to.”

“Me too. I wanted so much.”

“We have it now, what we wanted.”

“Yeah. I’m happy, Geralt.” He smiled, feeling overly warm inside.

“I’m happy too.” His eyes were bright. “To have this, it’s a dream.”

“But it’s real. We’re here and it’s real.”

“Thank the gods.”

“Yeah, I second that.”

They brought the horses to a walk and made their way without a hurry. Jaskier was desperate to get there, to be on the beach, but there was nothing wrong with walking beside Geralt upon their loyal horses either. He enjoyed it, the peacefulness it brought. It had been his favourite state of being during the trip, the peace of having Geralt beside him because it was right.

They made their way right to the beach, tying Daisy and Roach up, feeding them apples. They always kept their stocks full to treat the girls. They had been so good on the trip. Taking all their nonsense. The two had definitely become friends, sticking close to each other whenever they put them in stables, or tied them up. It was good, to know they got along.

Jaskier took his doublet off and stuffed it into his bag, taking his boots off too. He ventured out onto the sand, breathing in that lovely sea air. Geralt appeared beside him, boots off as well, buttons of his shirt undone. They both smiled, looking out. And then Geralt was offering his hand and Jaskier entwined their fingers together.

“Weeks ago, we were here. Two months.” Jaskier ducked his head. “Everything is different now.”

“And it’s better.”

“It is.”

They headed down, hand in hand, to the sea. They were smiling, so close to one another. It was a far cry from the running and pushing of last time. Then, they had been excited to start a journey, longing to tell the other of their feelings. And now, they had pledged to be together for as long as they had. Romance was in the air, along with the salt and the sweet smell of the sea. Everything _was_ different, and it _was_ better.

They reached the sea, briefly letting go to pull up their trousers, so as not to get them wet. Then, they were back to holding hands, slightly turned towards each other as they stared out at the horizon once again. It was like the scene was playing out just the same. Except, this time, Geralt rested his head on Jaskier’s shoulder, looking like he belong there. Jaskier knew from the angle that it was a little awkward, but he was quickly learning that Geralt was a bit of a romantic too.

He didn’t know how long they stood there for, hands clasped between them, Geralt’s head on his shoulder. But when the waves became much stronger as they crashed against their ankles, they retreated. Jaskier grabbed his lute and found a nice spot to sit at in the soft sands. Geralt sat beside him, one leg laying flat, the other bent towards his chest. He watched lovingly as Jaskier strummed the coastal melody.

He had his notebook beside him, noting down lyrics. Revising the song as he sung it. A word that was off and needed to be changed there, a phrase that had to be tweaked for effect here. He added the romantic verse, tweaking and meddling with it to get it right. One second, he was writing down lyrics, and in the next he was playing the melody again, singing. He scrunched up his nose several times.

“You know…” he said, pulling his notebook back into his hands, “I could never decide.”

Geralt, who had, at some point, laid down opposite him, having made a sand pillow for himself, furrowed his brow. “Decide on what?”

Jaskier peered at the words. “If lovely or gorgeous makes more sense.” He glanced to Geralt. “For you. Which do you prefer, lovely, or gorgeous?”

Geralt reached for his hair, twirling one finger around the strands. “Gorgeous. Alliteration is good, isn’t it?”

“See! That’s what I thought.” Jaskier grinned. “Thank you, my love.”

“Anytime, Jask.”

He smiled at the nickname that was quickly becoming Geralt’s version of a pet name, or term of endearment. Jaskier wrote the last few lyrics upon his notebook and set it back down beside him, comfortably settling his lute in his lap.

Singing the song, on this beach, after spending so much time on it, well, it had all come together, hadn’t it? Like destiny had perfectly crafted this whole trip to play out like this, as long as he and Geralt played along. And they had, falling into a deeper love, confessing their feelings, knowing of the bond between them, of their matching souls. Destiny had succeeded this time, despite the stubbornness of life.

He sung of the first day, of reaching the coast and becoming warm again. Of the small festival, so full of joy and wonders, of community and good spirits. Of the beast that had beat them down, and that even with injuries, Geralt had rid the world of it, healing afterwards, with Jaskier at his side. And then, the last verse… Of a large festival, crowded with people, of singing on the beach and impressing his love, so much so that confessions were shared, and romance ensued. Because said love was reciprocated, the best kind of all.

And the chorus spoke of the coast, of the warmth, the sea, the sand…

The song was a story, a tribute to their trip, but also a reminder of how the coast was a refuge of sorts. Full of life like no other part of the land.

As the last notes spread out into the air, Geralt sat up, beaming. He stood and stalked over to Jaskier, leaning down to kiss him on the lips. It was lovely and sweet, loving. Geralt was slow with it, careful in his movements, making no effort to deepen it. They pulled away smiling, and Jaskier grinned at him, love filling his soul. As it did every time they got this close, close enough to be one.

“I love it, it’s perfect,” Geralt whispered, fingers upon Jaskier’s chin.

“You know, I might sing it for the rest of my days.”

“I wouldn’t stop you.”

“Good.” And Jaskier leant up to kiss Geralt again, deeper this time.

They shared their love on the beach that had captured them first. Where it had all began, and where it felt like it ended, even if they were still going to continue their trip. This was, at the very least, the end of this leg of their journey, their break.

Whatever came next, Jaskier would welcome it with open arms.

\--

Jaskier hopped off Daisy, leading her by her reins. “Feels strange… to be back.”

The house almost loomed now, so different to the coast. The coast was free and bright. Where their home was, it was darkened by the surrounding woodland.

“Back to normal,” Geralt whispered. He shot a look at Jaskier. “A new normal.”

“At least I won’t be in that poxy room.”

“I thought you liked your poxy room.”

Jaskier barked a laugh, shaking his head. “It was alright, but I appreciate a double bed and my love more than a lonely and bare room.”

Geralt smiled at him, dropping Roach’s reins to open up one of the stable’s stalls. It was only small, with four stalls in total. Ciri’s horse, Kelpie, seemed happy to have Roach back, neighing loudly. He walked Roach in. “Hm, it’ll be nice to share a bed with you that is our own, and not in a tavern.”

“Agreed,” Jaskier said as he took Daisy’s saddle off, along with her reins. He stroked her, giving her a good pat before leaving her in the stall, walking out to greet Geralt on the grass. “How will they react?”

Geralt tilted his head as they set out towards the house. “They didn’t know of my love for you, but they suspected, and they knew of yours… They won’t be surprised.”

“They might be surprised we admitted it.”

“That– We’re not that bad.”

Jaskier shot him a look. _Really_? “We essentially proposed to go on a romantic getaway, while both thinking we only held platonic feelings for each other. We’re dumb, and they know it. They’ve most likely got a five year plan on how to get us to confess our love.”

Geralt thinned his lips. “That sounds plausible.”

“Because it’s probably true.”

They reached the front door, and Geralt pushed into the house. A sweet smell was wafting through from the kitchen, so they headed straight there, finding… It looked as if a horde of werewolves had been through it. There were dirty bowls and utensils on every surface, with Yennefer peering at the fire as if it had personally offended her. Ciri was atop one of the benches, sharpening a kitchen knife, an amused smile on her face as she watched Yennefer.

“What _happened_?” Jaskier asked, eyes widening as he noticed more mess was on the floor.

Ciri’s eyes snapped to them, and her smile exploded into a grin. “Yennefer tried to make biscuits for me, it didn’t go well.”

Yennefer straightened up, brushing down her dress. “This is the… fifth batch.”

“ _Anyway_!” Ciri jumped off the bench, placing the knife and stone down. “You’re back!” She approached Geralt and tugged him into a hug. “Did the coast treat you well?”

Geralt had a warm tone to his voice as he said, “Yeah, it did. We had a good time.”

Ciri pulled back, staring at Geralt with a wondrous hope. Her eyes darted to Jaskier, then back to Geralt. “You’re…” She stepped away, towards Yennefer. “Yen, they’re together!”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow, folding her arms, as if she was studying them. “Gods… You’re right.”

Jaskier furrowed his brow. “How did you _possibly_ work that out?”

Ciri walked back over to them, her eyes gleamed. “Geralt’s tone. He’s never sounded that soft, and that can only mean that you’ve confessed your feelings and you’re now together. Of course it would take a coastal trip for that to happen. Do tell, when in the almost three months you’ve been gone did you admit your feelings?”

Geralt and Jaskier exchanged a glance. Both knew the truth would result in a mocking laugh from both Ciri and Yennefer. But it wasn’t their fault… things like this, where the heart was involved, took time.

Geralt sighed. “A month and a half.”

Yennefer snorted. “Of course it would take that long on a romantic break away, for you two to realise what’s always been in front of you.”

“It’s better than what I was expecting,” Ciri said, a smirk curling at her lips.

“What were you expecting?” Jaskier wondered as he placed the bags down, leaving only his lute on his back.

“Two and a half months. I’m surprised you managed to do it with such speed.” She narrowed her eyes at them. “Now, I would wager Jaskier admitted it first.”

“Oh me too,” Yennefer chimed in, leaning on one of the benches, avoiding all the mess.

Geralt shook his head, his expression smug. “You’re wrong. It was me.” He smiled at Jaskier. “We were at a festival, and my feelings had been burning at me every day of the trip, and Jask had sung to a crowd and it was just as we’d imagined before going… So, I told him.”

Jaskier smiled at the memory of it. It would forever stay with him, that night. “Geralt was scared, I’d never seen fear like that in his eyes before, but I was beyond relieved when he told me.”

“You laughed.”

“I was _shocked_. I never dreamed to think you would feel the same.”

Yennefer groaned, placing her head in her palm. “I can’t believe it took this long in the first place.” She snorted _again_. “You’ve known each other for twenty-nine years.”

Ciri balked at them. “Wait, you never said it was that long.”

Geralt hung his head, shrugging. “There was a lot going on in the first twenty-two years.”

“Then came the seven year parting,” Jaskier continued.

“And now we’re together.”

“As if destiny had finally allowed us to _be_.” Jaskier smiled as Geralt groaned slightly. Even now, he hated destiny. “We did waste a lot of time.”

Yennefer raised her head, frowning. “How long are human lifespans again?”

“A hundred years, if we’re lucky. Most make it to seventy.”

“Fuck, that’s only a few decades left.” She looked to Geralt. “I’m… I assume you’re making the most of the time you have?”

Geralt sucked in a breath. “Yes.”

“That’s not… It’s so little time.”

Ciri shot her a look, eyes hard and warning. “They’ve known each other for decades, and they will love for decades more. That’s all that matters.”

“But Jaskier will–”

“We know,” Jaskier cut in. “We’ve talked about it, cried about it. My life will end far before Geralt’s, and I don’t think either of us will ever accept that, until the day comes.”

“Even then I won’t,” Geralt murmured, eyes suddenly sad. “I never will.”

Jaskier stepped to his side, curling an arm around his waist, pulling him into a side hug. Geralt turned in it though, allowing them to hug fully. He pushed one hand into his hair, massaging his scalp as Geralt hooked his chin over his shoulder, turning his head into Jaskier’s hair. They stood there for a moment, comforting. Well, it was more Jaskier comforting Geralt. It was a sad topic, and no doubt one that would crop up for many years to come.

“I’m sorry,” Yennefer murmured. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad feelings. I’m only concerned for you both.”

They pulled back and Geralt rubbed at his eyes, turning away while doing so. When he was ready, he looked to Yennefer, eyes teary. “Be concerned but… I will be with Jaskier until the day he dies.” His face twisted in pain and Jaskier stroked a hand up his arm, across his back.

“My love… it won’t happen for two decades at least.”

Geralt smiled sadly at him. “That doesn’t make the inevitable easier.”

“I know, nothing will.”

“You know what brightens up moods?” Yennefer said, breaking the moment. They turned to her, finding her holding a tray of biscuits. “Sweet things!”

She picked four up, handing one to Ciri, then Geralt, then Jaskier. Fresh off the fire, they were hot and scolding, but Jaskier bit into it anyway. Despite the mess, and the fact this was a batch after many failed attempts, it was good. Sweet and tasty. And it did brighten up his mood. Now, if only all problems could be solved with a biscuit.

“These aren’t bad,” Ciri said, smirking. “You’d never guess you had no idea what you were doing.”

Yennefer shot her an unimpressed glare. “I had an _idea_ of what I was doing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Excuse _me_ –”

Geralt shook his head, sighing. “Yennefer, you barely cook sweet things, ever.”

She gaped at him. “ _Well_.” A pause. “That is true actually…”

Ciri reached across one bench, holding up a tattered book. “She used the recipe from an ancient cookbook. Used the wrong ingredient twice.”

“Bad handwriting.”

“Hm, that’s true.”

Jaskier smiled as the friendly bickering continued. With Yennefer proclaiming that it wasn’t her fault the batches went awry. Ciri retained her stance that Yennefer didn’t know what she was doing, even with the book, while Geralt maintained that none of them knew how to make sweet bakes as they rarely ever made the effort.

It was natural, and Jaskier decided not to get involved. Although, he did like the idea of them all baking together (it would probably be fun).

Even with the inevitable on the horizon, Jaskier was fully prepared to be part of this family. While they would stay almost ageless, he would grow old, but that was okay, because he would be loved by Geralt (and hopefully be treasured by Ciri and Yennefer one day).

Everything would be fine. It would be great. Life couldn’t possibly fuck them over now.

\--

“I forgot, what this pain was like.” The man hung his head, shoving his hands into his hair as he stared at the table. “My _wife_ , Witcher.”

“I did what I could, but the curse had progressed too far.” Geralt glanced away and Jaskier placed a gentle hand at his shoulder. The petals that littered the floor, the stems, and the blood, it would stick with them for a while. “I’ve never seen something like that.”

“Neither had I.” The man frowned. “I have had vast experiences, all across the Continent. And yet someone coughing up flowers, blood and decay… No, I’ve never encountered that.”

“The witch may have come up with it herself, or found the curse in an ancient tome. Your wife was brave to confront her, but nothing came of it.”

The man gave a nod. “Whatever it was, I can only thank you profusely for killing that witch.” (They neglected to mention that the witch had then threatened Jaskier, and found herself choking on her own blood in the next instance.) He slid a small pouch across the table. “It’s all I have to spare.” He choked on tears. “Gods, what am I going to do without her?”

Jaskier wished they could do more for him. “You will find a way to push past the grief, one day.”

The man nodded. “If experience has taught me anything, the hurt will never fade, but the memories will keep me going.” He looked between them, smiling sadly. “One always dies first. Hang onto one another for as long as you have. Your relationship is strong.” He nodded to their hands. “But marriage makes it stronger, it’s a bond like no other.”

Jaskier knew what it meant to people, marriage. But he and Geralt had an entirely different bond that likely meant more than marriage ever could. Still, it would be nice… To be able to call Geralt his husband. In fact, it would be more than nice. It would be everything they were missing. That final link, the final tie. With a symbol to make it clear what they were.

Geralt hummed. “Does marriage make it hurt more or less when death comes?”

“I cannot say for certain, but I think it may hurt less… To know I shared my life so close with my wife somehow means more. As if its deeper.”

He nodded in reply. “I’m sorry about your wife…” And then Geralt was turning away, stalking up to the bar.

Jaskier gave the man a small smile. “I hope life treats you well.”

The man teared up, his lips twitching. “Thank you, bard.”

He left him behind, moving beside Geralt at the bar. They were fairly silent as they ordered their drinks and sat at a table. There wasn’t much to say. A woman had died choking on stems and petals, on the flowers that tore at her insides. A witch had died too, the one who had cruelly inflicted her with it. And now, a man was grieving… Gods, the world could be cruel and often would be.

Very few times had Jaskier and Geralt travelled through towns and villages without hearing of tragedy. Of any kind. Caused by disease, monsters, murderers, and whatever else. Humans were complex, with so little time compared to many other species of the Continent. Of course everything burnt brighter, felt harder. Because it was all they could do as a species, fall hard and live well, for as long as they were graced.

“Let’s get out of town, after these drinks. The sun is still high, we can make it far before setting up camp,” Jaskier whispered, finding the whole situation, the whole mood, too sorrow to speak any louder.

Geralt gave a nod. “That sounds better than my plan.”

“What was your plan?”

“Drink.”

Jaskier frowned, reaching over the table, taking Geralt’s hand into his own. “It’s okay. I know it was horrific, and that she threatened me, but it’s okay.”

Geralt sighed, eyes forlorn. “Just once, I want everyone to live.”

“Maybe it’ll happen one day. Maybe we’ll get to a village just before a death happens, maybe everyone will live.”

“Not this time…”

“No, unfortunately not.”

They did go after finishing their drinks. Taking Roach and Daisy, mounting them, and riding straight out of town. They’d been travelling for some time now. The house couldn’t occupy them for long, as quaint and lovely as it was, the four of them were travellers at heart. Yennefer and Ciri had been travelling together at the same time he and Geralt were.

Their little weird family had come together since Jaskier had found Geralt again, last year. He could hardly believe it had been so long. Sharing his love with Geralt for a year. Becoming friendly with Yennefer (they could still have petty arguments though). Rediscovering friendship with Ciri, specifically by reminiscing a lot, especially about Jaskier’s stupid antics.

It had certainly been a _year_. A journey of its own.

Jaskier couldn’t stop thinking about the man, and his wife. Of their love, showed by how the man grieved. Of what he said about marriage.

If he was being honest, he hadn’t thought too much about marriage. It seemed like a foreign concept, and he never put it on a pedestal like others did. It hadn’t been for him, not with how much he moved around. No one would want that forever. But Geralt did, and he was with Geralt and… Well, he could ponder. It didn’t have to mean anything if he asked…

“Do you think marriage makes a bond between two stronger?” he said, ignoring the way his chest panged, at his heartbeat picking up.

Geralt hummed. “Pondering about what that man said?”

“Yeah. We have the soul bond, but I can’t help but wonder if a symbolic bond would mean more.”

“Jaskier...” Geralt tilted his head, lips turning upwards slightly, “do you want to marry me?”

He shifted Daisy closer to Roach, closer to Geralt. “I wouldn’t mind calling you my husband.”

Geralt grinned, a new light in his eyes. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes. I would very much like to marry you.”

“And I would like to marry you.” He held a hand out in the space between them.

Jaskier placed his hand in Geralt’s, squeezing. “How shall we do this?”

“Ciri and Yen need to be there. Who should bind us?”

They looked at each other, smirks pulling at their lips.

“Ciri,” they said at once, grinning.

“And what about rings, and a sash to bind us?”

Jaskier pursed his lips. “We could pass through Maribor. I’ve heard they have the best jewellers.” He mused for a moment. “Where shall we get married? There are plenty of places that mean a lot to us.”

“The coast. On that beach,” Geralt said without any hesitation.

“Yes, that would be _romantic_.”

They beamed at each other.

Jaskier let go of Geralt’s hand and returned it to Daisy’s reins. “Now, how about we ride on to Maribor, pick up Ciri and Yen from Caravista, and ride for the coast?”

“I like that plan.”

“Me too... Now that the idea of marriage has latched onto me, I want nothing more than to marry you as soon as.”

Geralt smiled. “With your plan, Jask, we’ll be married within the month.”

“Good.”

\--

They didn’t talk about it often, but their relationship would only end in death, and if they were lucky, that would be when Jaskier grew old, after a few more decades of being at Geralt’s side. There was an inevitable end that he hoped would be when he was old, grey, and wrinkled, lying in bed with Geralt at his side, holding his hand.

There would be tears, and it would kill him more than age, or an illness that came with age could. Ciri would be there, and Yennefer would be in the corner pretending not to be emotional about his death. It would be nice... And Geralt could keep the symbol of their marriage with him always.

 _That’s_ what marriage promised them. Memories. It promised Geralt a constant reminder. It meant they could call each other husbands and really show just how much humanity witchers had. It meant having another bond, that they could see, that was forged by a ceremony, a tradition, rather than a spell.

For now, the impending wedding loomed, and they were in Maribor.

“Silver or gold?” Jaskier asked as they entered the jewellers.

“Silver?” Geralt offered, instantly peering at the rings the jeweller had on display.

“Mm, it would match with your look, and mine for that matter.” He pointed at a wide band that looked particularly shiny out of the lot of them. “How about that one for you?”

Geralt picked it up, studying it. “Hm.” He slid it onto his ring finger. “Good eye.”

“Thank _you_. Shall we get it?”

“Let’s.” He set it down and the jeweller grinned with the promise of a good sale.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” she asked.

“No, no,” Jaskier said. “We can manage.”

“That one?” Geralt pointed at a similarly wide silver band, but it looked to be of a higher quality, finer almost. Thinner than the thick of the one he’d picked out for Geralt. It’s shine had a sparkle to it.

“Perfect.” Jaskier picked it up and slid it on, and as with Geralt’s, it fit. Almost like destiny had chosen these rings for them first.

They paid up, much to the jewellers delight, and moved on to find a sash or scarf. Anything that could tie their hands together to bind them. There was also the matter of paint. Jaskier was from Redania, and it was custom to be lavish with it, often people went for the flower associated with them by friends and family. Jaskier’s name already meant buttercup, so that was the flower that would be painted upon his cheek. Only two colours tended to be used, matching those of their partner.

Geralt had chosen Kaedwen’s tradition of three dots on the forehead, grouped together. Two were one colour, and the last was another. They had decided to go with blue and brown, muted colours that would match with their outfits (Jaskier insisted upon it).

They found a shop full to the brim with fabrics. Blues and reds, purples and pinks. The dye was rich and bright. As if a lot of time and effort went in to making each one unique and colourful. The stitching was immaculate, the embroidery even more so.

“What can I help you with?” a man said, presumably the shop owner. “Is it a special occasion, or fabric for an outfit your looking for?”

“It’s for a wedding, our wedding,” Geralt said.

The man lit up. “Ah! Then my selection of wedding binds are over here.” He led them to the right side of the shop, near to his counter. He narrowed his eyes at them. “Now, judging off your clothing choices, I would _suppose_... that you would be after something like this.” The man picked up a piece of fabric from the rack. It was a bright blue, aqua almost, with black running down the sides, a red stitching weaved along the edges. At the top and bottom it had embroidered flowers stitched into the material, curling around a blade.

“Soft but with an edge to it. Exactly the vibe a bard and witcher give me.” The man grinned. “I originally made this piece with a knight and fair maiden in mind, but I think it would suit you both even better.”

Jaskier looked to Geralt. “What do you think?”

Geralt reached out, touching a piece of the fabric. “It’s perfect.”

Jaskier lit up. “I agree. Just...” He brushed his fingers along the stitching. “It’s a work of art and... yes, it’s perfect for us.”

The man lit up like no other. “Wonderful! I’m glad.” He walked away with the fabric and pulled out a piece of plain cloth, wrapping it up safely on the counter. “A wedding should have only the best of what you need. It doesn’t often happen again, might as well make it special.”

“Indeed,” Geralt murmured, smiling at Jaskier with the power of the sun itself.

They paid for it with a smile (even with the price) and headed out of town. They picked up some blue and brown paint on the way, getting a good price for it.

They were back out on the road in no time, heading down to Caravista.

It took a day and a half, but they got there, and quickly found Yennefer and Ciri causing a ruckus in the middle of town. Ciri looked a little dishevelled and _angry_. Her undershirt was somehow untucked from beneath her armour. They stayed back, but Geralt looked ready to withdraw his sword.

“What did you _think_ was going to happen?!” she shouted at the crowd. “You think I’d take that lying down?” She waved dismissively. “Besides, he’s just in a coma.”

“Just– _Just_!” one member of what essentially was a mob called out. “He might never wake up!”

“It was a bash to the head with a sword, he’ll have minor brain damage at worst. It’s only been an hour. Be with him instead of hounding me.”

Yennefer folded her arms. “Now, if you’re all done hounding a young woman, we’ll be on our way.”

“Like hell you will!” an older man shouted, with greying hair. “You hurt my son!”

“Your _son_ ,” Ciri said with poison, “tried to get his grubby little hands on me.” She scoffed. “He found out quick what would happen.”

Jaskier and Geralt came to a stop at Ciri’s side, and as the man approached with angry steps, Geralt rushed forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him to an abrupt stop.

“If you want to walk away intact, I’d suggest you back off now.”

“Geralt!” Ciri shouted with glee. “Nice to see you here. This is nothing.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t downplay your achievements.”

She smiled.

Yennefer stepped forward, towards the man. “Unless you want two angry sorceresses, one angry witcher, and an angry bard on your arse, I’d suggest you let this go.” She looked up at the crowd. “That goes for all of you. She was defending herself, you brutes!”

Jaskier withdrew his dagger, playing with the tip. “She’s right.”

Some of the crowd quickly scarpered. Geralt let the man go and he too ran off. Others stayed, eyes hard and wary, but the smarter ones, pulled at their arms, taking them away from the situation too. Jaskier sheathed his dagger, grinning.

“We have news!” he announced.

Ciri folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. “News? It couldn’t wait till next week?”

Next week, they were all supposed to meet back up at the house, as they’d all been travelling for a few months. “No, it couldn’t.”

Geralt grinned, taking Jaskier’s hand. “We’ve decided to get married.”

“You–” Yennefer spluttered. “You’ve _what_?”

“Yeah.”

“Really taking this relationship seriously, aren’t you?”

“There’s no other way to take it,” Jaskier said. “We have so little time compared to what Geralt will live.” He winced as Geralt squeezed his hand. “Sorry, my dear.”

“It’s okay,” Geralt whispered.

“He’ll at least have my ring, no matter how I eventually die.” He scuffed his toe off the ground. “Because I _will_ be first.” He looked to Geralt, eyes pricking with tears. “You can’t be. That’s not how it’s supposed to go.”

“Alright.” Ciri said clapping her hands together. He was glad for her cutting in, they didn’t need more sorrow about the same problem again. “A wedding then. What’s the plan?”

“We have paint, rings, a sash. We only need to head to the coast. To a beach that means a lot to us.”

“We need you there.” Geralt looked towards Ciri. “Will you bind us?”

Ciri lit up, her eyes bright. “Yes, it would be an honour.”

Yennefer smiled, gently. She was still somewhat sad over how their relationship would inevitably end, and didn’t want either of them (mainly Geralt) to be hurt. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go to the coast.”

“Yes, I’d rather get out of this town sooner rather than later,” Ciri said, already walking away.

“Not long now,” Jaskier whispered to Geralt.

Geralt kissed his temple, then his cheek. “I can’t wait.”

“Neither can I.”

\--

“Hold still,” Yennefer grumbled.

Jaskier pouted. “It tickles, leave me alone.”

“Stop being a child.” She put the blue paint down and picked up the brown, no doubt finishing off the stems on his cheek with flourish.

Geralt, meanwhile, had decided upon having one blue dot and two brown, upon his forehead. It looked modest and lovely, but Jaskier knew his flower was just as nice.

“I’m behaving,” Geralt mumbled.

“Ciri finished yours minutes ago, and I’m very ticklish on my cheeks.”

Geralt got a sudden teasing glint in his eyes. “You’ve never told me that.”

That had clearly been a mistake. “ _Shit_.”

Geralt laughed heartily. “You’ll never expect it.”

“ _Wonderful._ ”

He laughed again and Jaskier had to resist shaking his head and messing up Yennefer’s work. Even had to resist laughing himself, until Yennefer stepped away and studied his cheek, to which he laughed gently, shaking his head at Geralt.

Yennefer finished up his paint and smiled. “That looks good enough.”

Geralt stood from where they’d been sitting cross-legged on the grass. “Shall we?” He offered a hand to Jaskier.

He took his hand with glee, standing. “I have never been more ready to do anything in my life.”

They headed down to the soft sands, bare foot. Jaskier was dressed in his best doublet (that he now carried around in case they got invited to a party) and Geralt was in his. The very same ones they had bought when going to Lord Ambert’s party. It felt right to wear them in some way, perhaps because the dancing that night had been a big step for the both of them.

They found an optimal spot and knelt down, beaming at each other. Jaskier took a brief second to look. The way Geralt’s hair sat upon his shoulders, his bright eyes, and the smile that had been firm on his lips since they’d smelt salt in the air, nearly took Jaskier’s breath away.

Ciri stood before them, with Yennefer at her side holding the sash. They had both changed into outfits they took with them in case they had to look fancy for any reason. But Ciri’s outfit was much like what Geralt was wearing, while Yennefer was in one of her over the top dresses.

“Geralt. Jaskier,” Ciri said, gesturing for the sash. Yennefer passed it over.

Jaskier held his hand out and Geralt entwined their fingers together. They smiled at each other, and there was a giddiness that flowed between them.

“With destiny’s blessing,” She wrapped the sash around their hands. “I thee bind.”

Jaskier and Geralt turned towards each other, leaning in for a kiss. They kept their hands joined in the sash, but their other hands roamed. Jaskier cupped Geralt’s cheek, and Geralt settled his hand at Jaskier’s waist. It was the warmest, most sweetest kiss he’d ever experienced. There was a shift in the space between them, a flow of emotion, the bond tightening if he was guessing correctly. There was something about being wed that made the bond glow, shine bright.

They parted, beaming at each other. Geralt leant forward, resting their foreheads together, smiles firm on their lips.

“My husband,” Geralt whispered. “I think the bond likes marriage.”

“Yes. It seems to.” He stroked Geralt’s cheekbone with his thumb. “My love... my husband...”

“I like that word.”

“Me too.”

They parted and stood after a few minutes of staying close, as if they had to, as if the ceremony had finally cracked them open, revealing that they were soft inside, and that their harsh edges had been dulled from spending time at the other’s side.

Geralt pulled the rings out and handed Jaskier his. They put them on with a smile. The very symbol of their marriage, of their love.

Ciri and Yennefer had gone down to the sea and were actively splashing each other with water. Jaskier looked to Geralt with a smirk. Geralt raised his eyebrows, and Jaskier nodded. In the next second, they were sprinting down the beach, nearly falling over themselves in their haste. As they made it to the sea, they pulled up their trouser legs and padded in. Kicking water towards Ciri and Yennefer. They shrieked at them, teaming up to splash water towards Jaskier and Geralt.

He didn’t know how much time they spent in the sea, splashing and kicking water towards each other, but they got sopping wet in the process. When they waded back to the soft sands to lie down, they got them awfully wet, and the sand darkened greatly.

Jaskier and Geralt were pressed close, smiling and laughing away. They held hands, staring up at the blue sky. Jaskier never wanted the moment to end, never wanted the day to end. It was simply too joyous and perfect.

Ciri loomed over them after gods know how long. “I can feel your bond is stronger now, it’s rolling over you, spreading into the air around.” She smiled. “I’m glad you’re so in love. It took you long enough to get here after all.”

“It did,” Geralt said. “But in a strange twist of destiny, it was meant to be this way.”

“Destiny does work strangely.”

Jaskier nodded along, a small smile upon his lips. “It has a plan for us all, and it’s plan for mine and Geralt’s relationship was a slow burn.”

“Certainly.” She swung her arms back and forth, looking almost young. As Jaskier remembered her, when she was a girl. “I’m going back to build sand sculptures with Yennefer. Have fun lazing about.”

“We will,” Jaskier said tiredly.

Ciri ran off and fell to her knees by the sand mermaid Yennefer appeared to be making.

“So, the bond _has_ gotten stronger...” Jaskier said after a while, staring at Geralt.

“The bond is a strange magic. I doubt anyone will ever understand it.”

“Well, since we are affected by it, I hope we can understand why it can get stronger one day.”

Geralt hummed. “Perhaps as our feelings get more intense, it gets stronger.”

“Seems plausible.” Jaskier grinned at him. “All I’m glad for is that we’re now married.” He squeezed Geralt’s hand. “To be able to call you my husband.”

A lazy smile crawled across Geralt’s face. “My husband, a humble bard.”

Jaskier barked a laugh. “Gods! You said it! You admit it, _finally_.”

Geralt rolled onto his side and brought Jaskier’s hand up to his lips, kissing his knuckles softly. “It’s not true, and it never will be, but I will indulge you.”

He smirked. “Well, I feel like a pampered and spoiled husband now.”

Geralt chuckled, mirth in his eyes. “You don’t need me to spoil you. You treat yourself far too often for that.”

“I do, doesn’t mean you can’t spoil me with words.” He shifted closer. “There’s no finer thing than hearing your voice, or hearing your laugh.”

“That was sickly sweet.”

“You love it.”

Geralt gave a soft smile. “I do.” He turned his head, looking towards Ciri and Yennefer. “Should we join them?”

Jaskier sat up, smiling bright. “Let’s.”

When they left the beach, hours later, the sand was moulded structures more than it was loose grains. Mermaids, dragons, griffins, and more were all flat against the ground. Ready to be later washed away by the tide coming in.

\--

Jaskier wasn’t sure how the years had managed to slip away after he and Geralt married. He’d lost track of time quite a few times, but it had been eleven or so years, of that he was certain. Time tended to pass so strangely now, like a vague whisper in a dark tavern after one too many drinks.

Ciri had matured fully in that time, really becoming a force to behold. They were all very, very proud of her. Today, though, she was growing impatient. They were heading out on their trip to Cintra (a dangerous plan but, well, they didn’t have the sense to think twice).

He was packing his bag while Geralt was out hunting for some food (preparing in advance), and Yennefer was sorting things out. He didn’t know why he’d left it till the last minute, but he was ensuring he only packed the essentials.

“Come on, old man!” Ciri called from the door downstairs.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, placing his best doublet into his bag. “I will not take that rude remark from you! I am only fifty-nine!” he shouted as he rushed down the hallway, to the stairs.

“No... You’re not?” Ciri furrowed her brow.

“What do you mean?” He came down the stairs, stopping in front of her. “I think I would know, Ciri.”

Ciri sighed, shouting out the door, “Yen! Jaskier’s perception of time has messed up by five years!”

“What...? Geralt swears it’s only been six werewolf hunts since our marriage.”

“What does that _mean_?”

“It means it’s only been around eleven years.”

“Yen...! Both Geralt and Jaskier don’t know how time works!” She looked towards him, deadpanning, “It’s 1285, Jaskier. You’re sixty-three.” Her face dropped. “You’re _sixty_ - _three_.”

Jaskier was thoroughly confused now, and he wasn’t sure anything Ciri would say next would change that. “Wha...”

She rushed out of the house and Jaskier followed behind, a little cautious. He didn’t know why him being sixty-three seemed to be a revelation. So what if he lost track of time sometimes? It was natural when living so far from a ‘normal’ life to lose what time was from time to time. Months, years, they blended together.

Ciri stalked up to Yennefer, who was preparing all their horses. (Yennefer had finally crumbled and bought one for herself instead of using portals and meeting them there). Ciri shook her shoulder, face quickly going pale.

What did him being sixty-three _mean_?

“He’s not ageing,” Ciri stated, voice tense.

Jaskier froze.

Yennefer furrowed her brow, looking to Jaskier, then to Ciri. “No... I swear he had crow’s feet.”

“You were being ratty and that was _decades_ ago. Look at him.”

Yennefer did.

“Oh...”

Jaskier swallowed thickly. “What are you talking about...?”

“Jaskier, you look like you’re no more than twenty-seven. You’re sixty-three, right?”

“Uh, right.”

“Not a grey hair. Not a wrinkle. No sign of ageing...”

Ciri covered her mouth, fingers skating across her skin. “The spell…? The bond?”

Yennefer drew a breath in, sighing in realisation. “I’ve never… heard of the spell doing that.”

“How often is a human bonded to a soul with a longer lifespan?”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed in herself. “I’ll be back.” She opened a portal and walked through, letting it close behind her.

“Fuck,” Jaskier said, his mind whirling.

“Where’s Yennefer?” Geralt asked, appearing out of nowhere with four rabbits on his shoulder.

Ciri took them from him, attaching them to Pegasus. (Unlike _Geralt_ , he gave his new horse a different name. Although he was still grieving Daisy’s death, it had only been… well, he had been fairly sure it had only been a few months.) “She’s off to check something. Jaskier, tell him.”

Jaskier clutched his lute strap. This was good news... if true. But it was shocking, nonetheless. “My dear, we’ve lost track of time again.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “By how much this time?”

“Five years...”

The colour drained from Geralt’s expression. “Why do you look horrified?”

“I’m sixty-three. I don’t have any grey hairs, no wrinkles, not even crow’s feet.”

Geralt’s eyes went wide, his mouth gaped. “You’re not ageing.”

“I’m terrified of the reason why.” His hands shook, his whole body trembled. “Ciri and Yennefer suspect it may be the bond.”

“It would make sense,” Ciri chimed in. “Why bind two souls together if one could die of old age centuries before the other? It’s likely Jaskier is ageing at the same rate as you. But we can’t know if it’s that until Yennefer finds out if it’s possible.”

“Fuck...” Geralt whispered. He looked to Jaskier. “It’s the bond. Unless you know of any elf blood in you?”

“I doubt it’s elf blood. My family only spoke of the propaganda.”

Geralt frowned, approaching Jaskier, settling his hands at his upper arms. “This is good.”

“It is.” He smiled slightly. “I won’t die to age years upon years before you.”

“The thing we feared the most...” 

Jaskier closed his eyes, turning his face away. “I was preparing, ever since... Preparing myself, trying to prepare you. If this is true, if I’m really not ageing as I should be,” He opened his eyes, looking to Geralt, “then we have _time_ , my love, time we never thought we had.”

“Do we need to postpone the trip?” Geralt moved one hand to cup Jaskier’s jaw. “Because we can, even if it’s for a day. It’s a shock.”

“No, no.” Jaskier smiled reassuringly. “I’m okay, I just... thought anything like this was impossible but now.” He reached up, placing his hand in Geralt’s hair. “It’s all we wanted, a way, for this. It was impossible, they said, but clearly it’s not.”

Geralt pulled him in for a hug. Jaskier latched on like a limpet, hands flat against his back, bringing him closer. He hid his face in his hair, making a small noise that wasn’t quite a whimper but was close enough. Geralt rubbed his back, chin hooked on his shoulder. It was all the comfort he needed.

“I have an idea,” Ciri said, quietly.

Jaskier pulled back from the hug to look at her. “What?”

“I can search within you. Really look.” She held out her hand. “You could pass out. Or feel a tingle. But you will be fine.”

Jaskier looked to Geralt, who thinned his lips, nodding. Well... What was the worst that could happen? He slipped out of Geralt’s arms and approached Ciri, extending his hand to her. She took it gently, pressing her other hand against his forehead, closing her eyes.

She’d been right, it was like a tingle. Like something had burrowed in his brain and was moving around, diving into his memories, into his knowledge. He felt his knees grow weak as the tingle became more of an inch, an irritant in his brain. He closed his eyes, scrunching tight, and struggled through it. He wouldn’t pass out, he refused to. But he could feel it, feel Ciri’s power coursing in his brain, in his body, his blood, trying to find _something_.

Then she was pulling away with a gasp, breathing hard. Jaskier opened his eyes, watching as Geralt rushed to her side, holding her face to get a look at her, to check she wasn’t injured.

“Alright?” he asked.

Ciri nodded, shaking Geralt off. She straightened up, placing a hand on her hip. “It’s no lie. It’s not your moisturiser, or good ageing genes. You _are_ ageing at a slower rate. I could see it in your cells. I also found the memory of your parents taking you to the town mage. They paid a hefty price for the spell, and found out immediately who you were bonded to. It’s something the mage performing the spell can do.” Ciri sighed. “Upon finding out you were bonded to Geralt, they made the decision to keep it from you, in the hope that you would never meet. But denying destiny never works, as we all know.”

Jaskier frowned at the mention of what his parents had chosen to do. He’d always believed they were better people than that. “Is it because of the bond?”

“I could feel the bond’s hold on you, the connection. It’s strong and runs through your entire body, reaching into your cells. I would say so, yes.”

“That’s good. As long as there are no nasty surprises.”

Ciri smiled slightly. “Nothing strange that I could see. Apart from the bond, you’re fully human.”

“What about surviving injuries he shouldn’t?” Geralt asked. Jaskier gave him a questioning look, what was he talking about? Geralt sighed and continued, “On our coast trip? You managed to survive blood loss that would have made you too weak to drag me back to the village.”

Ciri hummed. “It is possible the bond could let some form of your abilities transfer to Jaskier. Not by much, I’m sure, but since ageing is affected, maybe healing is too.”

Jaskier curled an arm around himself, staring at the ground. “This is too much...”

Geralt wrapped an arm around him, kissing the top of his head. “It’ll be alright. You’ll get used to the idea.”

“Mm, I know. I’m not _complaining_.” He looked towards Geralt. “It’s just a lot of sudden information to take in. None of us were prepared for this, least of all me.”

“Do you need to go inside, sit down?”

“No... No, let’s just wait for–”

Well, think of the devil. A portal opened and Yennefer hopped out, a refreshed look on her face. She glanced towards each of them, lips slightly thinned. Stalking up to Jaskier, her eyes became softer, less piercing as they normally were.

“Whoever did this to you gave you both a blessing and a curse. It’s true, the spell can slow your ageing if the soul you’re bonded to ages at a slower rate than you.”

Ciri stepped beside her. “I’d worked that out, looked into his brain. His parents did it to him.”

Yennefer sighed. “It’s always the parents.” She shook her head. “At least you know. At least it won’t be a shock once you reach a hundred and see no old age upon your face.”

Jaskier laughed to himself. “I would have lost track of time and forgotten my age by then.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Of course you would have, because you, and Geralt, are terrible at time keeping.”

“Time keeping doesn’t mean much, as long as I know the season,” Geralt said, to which Yennefer and Ciri promptly glared at him.

“That’s awful, don’t do that. I’m disappointed in you,” Yennefer said, folding her arms. “You’re a bad influence on Jaskier.”

“I’m a bad influence on myself,” Jaskier quipped, grinning.

Ciri chuckled away. “You’re terrible.”

“Not as terrible as I could be. I assure you, I can be worse.”

Geralt twisted his lips, raising his eyebrows. “He’s right. Don’t tempt him.”

Ciri raised her hands, a laugh on her lips. “I won’t, I won’t.”

“Come on then,” Yennefer called, walking over to her horse, Firelight. “Let’s head out before nightfall reaches us.”

“It’s not _that_ late,” Jaskier said, glancing up. The sun wasn’t even high in the sky yet.

“But time has been knocked off our journey.”

“There’s no rush,” Ciri said, swinging up onto Kelpie. “We could die in Cintra.”

Jaskier climbed onto Pegasus, huffing. “Don’t be so bloody dramatic.”

“We _could_.”

Geralt jumped up on to Roach. “She’s not wrong. But we’re not dying.”

Yennefer urged Firelight into a walk. “Then let’s get a move on. We can’t see what it’s like if we don’t go.”

Ciri hummed, and Kelpie walked forward, side by side with Firelight and Yennefer. Geralt was about to follow, when...

“Geralt, wait a second.”

He raised his eyebrows at Jaskier.

“I... It will be fine, right? Me not dying of old age in the next few decades?”

“What...?” Geralt huffed. “Yes, Jaskier, it’s more than fine.” His eyes filled with a sorrow. “What worries you?”

Jaskier glanced down, staring at the flicks of brown in Pegasus’s white coat. He touched the pendant on his neck, the glass lute was a comfort to him. An old piece he kept dear. (Just as Geralt kept that painting dear, and close, it tended to be on his person.) “I worry you will tire of me one day... I’m just a bard.”

Roach sidestepped closer and Geralt reached out, fingers upon Jaskier’s chin, guiding him to look. And... oh, his eyes were... soft. “I will _not_ get sick of you. You’re _my_ bard, my lover, my _husband_ , Jask. I love you.”

Jaskier gave out a shaky breath, nodding. “I’m sorry... I just... This wasn’t what we thought would be.”

“But it is, it’s true. I will be there, always. Because, we’re married, I love you, and you’re part of my soul.”

Jaskier reached out, pulling Geralt into a kiss. Sweet and loving. He pushed every emotion into it. Everything he had felt since he’d fallen in love, since they got married. Since they told the truth really. Geralt cupped his neck, smiling into it. A kiss for the ages, Jaskier would say. One that pulled at every emotion, from joy to sorrow. He could make a song from the precious moment alone, but he wouldn’t, it was much too private for that.

He sighed, happily, breaking the kiss with a smile.

“I love you too, with all my being.”

Geralt smiled. “I never doubted that.”

Jaskier gasped, playfully batting his arm. “You did, once...! Before.”

“That was before we admitted it, in that tavern. Ever since, I have never had reason to doubt your love.”

“And I don’t doubt yours.” He cupped Geralt’s cheek, gazing earnestly. “But I do worry for the future.”

“Don’t worry about ours. I’m here, and I’m never leaving you. Never again.”

Jaskier grinned, more than ever. “I’m never leaving you either.”

“Good. Glad we got that sorted.” He smiled, large and bright. “We better catch up, before they know we’re behind.”

“They already know. But let’s go, before they will have our heads.”

Geralt chuckled and Jaskier laughed along, feeling light and bright. Death wasn’t on the horizon, and neither was impending old age. He could be with them, his family, with Geralt, his husband, for much, much longer. And that was certainly a blessing from destiny he never expected.

As Geralt urged Roach into a gallop, Jaskier curled his fingers around his lute strap. Feeling a song coming on. Quickly, he followed Geralt as Pegasus launched into a fast gallop (even though he’d love to be lazy).

The song brewing in his mind already had a name. The Smell of Love.

Because while Jaskier had been right when he first met Geralt, while he had smelt of death, destiny, heroics and heartbreak, he didn’t anymore. Not entirely.

No, what he smelt of now was, still death and destiny and heroics (with a little hope mixed in), but love too. Rather than heartbreak.

It was a refreshing feeling, to have an old interpretation wiped away. And while he was still worried (and probably always would be), he was excited for the future.

He caught up to Geralt and beamed at him. And Geralt? Well he beamed right back at him. His destiny, his love, his husband.

And there was no other place he _could_ be, than at his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy, and that's the end! If ya enjoyed, please do tell me what you thought of it! :D!!
> 
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